


No ballad will be written

by Dinae



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, F/M, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Season/Series 04 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 09:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinae/pseuds/Dinae
Summary: Adapted from a roleplay log co-written with my partner. The original was twice as long and written last year.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	No ballad will be written

There’s a bit of nervousness, when Emily Prentiss goes to meet her new unit chief— _ the _unit chief, really. Agent Hotchner. She tried not to do compulsive googling or using some sort of FBI resource just to look up her boss but it’s hard. He seems hawkish, like a lot of male agents occupying high positions— leaning into stoicism, broadcasting nothing but inner strength.. From the very first moment, she’s edgy, stumbling a bit— he doesn’t react the way she thought he would.

She’d thought he’d metaphorically roll up his sleeves and tell her to hit the ground running— but instead the conversation drags in weird places— Emily hadn’t realized he’d known her mother, or would have remembered her, even from some brief introduction when she was no older than early twenties, if that. 

Her heart’s somewhere in her chest by the end— he didn’t know she’d been put on the team, didn’t _ want _ her there— who then, had selected her, if not the team leader? He’s gone in a matter of moments. Emily hears later he took a case somewhere she might have been able to help, St. Louis— somewhere she could have been in her element, made positive impressions with the rest of the team. 

There’s nothing she can do, but wait. Wait, and try to figure out who screwed this up. Whether she screwed something up. 

He can’t let himself go off first impressions. The issues that came along with Prentiss’ arrival are too significant to be ignored, but somehow he imagines he would have taken her on quickly, if not for them. There’s something in the quickness of her mind or the stubborn set of her jaw that reinforces her insistent claim that she belongs here, but— no. If every bright-eyed upstart was filtered easily through, his department would lose track of the valuable trust they’d cultivated within a matter of a few cases. 

Aaron doesn’t remember much about the first time he’d met her. A shaken hand, maybe. She’d looked less steely then. Younger in more ways than just appearance. Despite his impression, suspicion seems like a wise element to keep present in their interactions. Or vigilance, at the least. He talks it through with a few people, and eventually makes a tentative, temporary decision. One that’ll go through if a few things clear up as planned. He can’t ignore her background, either. A position like has the potential to be desirable enough to lead to the pulling of strings. 

Even when Hotchner— Hotch— relents, he’s standoffish and brusque. Her old office wasn’t like this, but then, she’d been a stable presence there, and part of a larger department, not part of a team, especially not as intimate as this one seems to be. Everyone else seems fine— if kooky. Emily finds herself able to slip into appropriate banter but everyone but Hotch. 

Her reports keep her up at night, struggling there, wanting to make a good impression on paper, if she’s somehow failing in person. Not since college has she wanted to make someone think well of her— to be the person he would have wanted to offer the job to, rather than have dumped in his lap. She tries to keep her interactions with him brief, formal. 

Prentiss seems hellbent on proving herself. Again and again, despite his misgivings, her work is excellent— keeping close to the highest standard. He’s still conflicted, though. Just as he’ll begin to wonder if his concerns were unfounded, some little hint or trail will lead him right back to his doubts again. He wishes he didn’t have to worry about this. Already she’s turning in some of the best work of the team, and her probationary period has barely lasted a few weeks. 

It builds, the tension between them— she doesn’t know what she’s doing wrong. Emily can guess, maybe— a little too questioning of Hotch. She is acquainted with a few too many politicians.

At least he has the grace to confront her in private, asking straightforwardly if she’s... passing information, in some way. Emily finds herself blank, trying to answer him without being emotional. The way politics ate at her parents own lives, her life— it’s abhorrent to her. Even if she wanted to engage in something like that, leveraging power on the backs of murdered women isn’t something she’d _ ever _ do. It hurts to be suspected of such a thing.

Getting through it, explaining herself, without falling apart like a sheltered teenager in front of a principal— Emily can hear the strain in her voice, but having to stand up to her superiors is a skill— something she’s learned to do in the past decade. That last ‘sir’, to him, resisting the childish impulse to pull the door closed sharply— she’s self contained, calm until she’s in private with only that strange voice and lightly flushed cheeks belying the turmoil there. How can she work for someone who doesn’t trust her? How can she prove herself trustworthy when she hasn’t— done anything to deserve this mistrust? She can only hope she got through to Hotch, past that outwardly quiet, demanding workplace demeanor. 

She isn’t lying. Aaron’s been in the places he’s been in long enough to tell a lie when he sees it— her eyes are trained on him as she speaks, and there’s the little set of her jaw again. He’s recognizing it now as less stubbornness and more careful self control, a suppressing of emotion not beneficial to her. 

He brings up the circumstances of her entrance into the department, and she acknowledges them with only a momentary dip of her gaze. But her eyes harden a little, once he mentions the alternate possibilities of her motivations. She stands without being dismissed— he watches the slight hitch in her hand as she doesn’t slam the door. Prentiss was right. Aaron doesn’t think she deserves this, either. 

Hotch is a little less difficult to take, the next time they all get on a plane— he’s been less whatever, lately. Maybe that’s what makes it easier to ask, watching him shift with his legs scraping the desk, “Do you— would you like to switch seats? I don’t mind.”

She only barely holds back another ‘sir’, biting her lip around it instead— it’s just a nervous thing, falling back on niceties just like her mother taught her. 

There’s a moment of eye contact— she’s biting her lip, which he notices especially for some reason. Nervous over something like that— but it’s a kindness. 

“Yes,” he says. Tilts his head a little, something like a smile. “Thank you.” The plane had been built for slightly smaller people than most of them were, and he and Morgan had been bending their legs under desks for as long as they’d been flying. But it’s odd, seeing this attention from Prentiss. So out of the blue and focused on something as small as comfort. 

Her arm brushes his as he stands and she ducks her head, moving past him. It’s a small plane— not much room to walk, let alone sit. There’s an awkward little moment where she looks up in the midst of situating herself and they’re unprofessionally close, but she sits quickly after that. Aaron follows. 

Hotch seems warmer, a slightly softer tone, even in just the space of those three words. She has to duck away from that gaze down at her as the move past each other, settling back into their new seats.

An awareness, now, of just how close he is, tall, broad— she hadn’t noticed these things on a visceral level, before. Emily’s senses are engaged, realizing his suit smells somewhat like starch, the fading scent of aftershave as she relaxes back into the seat he’d been occupying. He’s married, Emily reminds herself, sharply. There’s no reason to be thinking about Hotch at all, let alone about his aftershave. God. 

“Flying must be difficult for you, in commercial flights. The little drop down trays over those knees.” It’s almost a chuckle at his expense, and she looks guilty, smooths her skirt to avoid looking at him sidelong. “But I guess we don’t really have time for personal trips, generally.” 

“True enough,” he replies, lets himself chuckle a little. “I doubt I’d be able to relax. Flights are always either to or from a case. Anticipation exhaustion. Neither suits a pleasure trip very well.” 

Aaron’s thankful she’s keeping contact. God knows he’s been distant enough to warrant isolation, at least in terms of small talk. There’s a lingering smell of something spicy-sweet in the air— her perfume, probably. It’s surprisingly nice. Or not so surprisingly— he shouldn’t have expected Prentiss to be anything else than perfectly put together. 

Exhaustion seems about right— traveling at the pace they go, even with their own flight— it wears on them. It’s still novel to her, but Emily expects she’ll get there eventually. 

“True. But then, I’ve only seen Reid and Morgan close their eyes on the way home.” There’s a swallowed question there, an impolite _ Do you sleep _ hiding behind pursed lips. “With how much we travel, it’s like going home during the week is our vacation.”

Certainly she sleeps better in her own bed, with nothing but paperwork to face— JJ is fine when they have to double up, but Emily’s restless in hotels, particularly the utilitarian ones they end up staying in. Idly, she wonders what it’s like, going home to a wife and a baby. Would it be much different than going home to her roommate and an otherwise quiet house? 

“Maybe so.” He wishes he could agree with her wholeheartedly, without the ghost of the tension waiting for him at home hanging over his head. “I must be boring at home, though— sleeping all the time. I imagine your off-work life is a bit more exciting than mine.” A smile, half to himself— of course it would be.

She tries to contain a frown— that doesn’t make much sense, really. Maybe his kid is just very well behaved. Hotch is probably just exhausted, and that makes it easy to drop off when he does get back home. What that does to his home life isn’t her business, at all. A bit of a wry smile, angling her face to look at him. “It really isn’t. I don’t have much of a social life, so I mostly stay home and read.” There’s a bit of a pause there, trying to decide what is and isn’t appropriate to divulge.

Reading is something she does at home, but she also cooks, and binges on television and— tries to _ relax _. The implications there would be anything but appropriate. Maybe she could talk about the edges of that with Morgan, in his half teasing banter— but not Hotch. 

A hint of a raised eyebrow at the pause before “read”, just enough to let her go on. She’s finally looking at him, some of the shyness bleeding away. “I can understand that. Saturday nights don’t always just allow us the freedom to go clubbing.” 

He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Although I shouldn’t speak for Morgan.” 

Part of the problem is how he can be so stiff, but this time Hotch surprises her with that little skeptical face and looking like he might have wanted to smile about Morgan’s clubbing habits. She smiles instead, lapsing into silence.

Weeks pass, some of them rockier than others. The last of the suspicion drains when it comes out that Strauss is the one that put her on the team without permission from Hotch. It hurts all over again, realizing she’d been elevated without really deserving it, just because she was expected to— to give something back to her. To sell out the team.

Her threats to resign follow close on the heels of Hotch’s— but for totally different reasons. Emily has no real idea why he decided to leave, or come back. Only that he seems fiercely loyal to the team when he returns. 

They both end up putting in longer hours than usual, and she doesn’t want to ask him why he’s doing it. But when the office empties out, the only sound comes from up in his office, and she finds herself looking up into the window. 

The light’s low— as the sounds from down below die off as people go home, he turns everything off but his lamp, curling around the light as he goes through sheaf after sheaf of paperwork. The monotony is nearly comforting, now. He can read and write, feel the ache in his hands, feel the emptiness in his head. God, he wonders if he looks the way he feels. Less organized than any chief should be— messy hair and rolled-up sleeves, lost in a mountain of files he’s struggling to care about. 

It takes a bit, to decide to go up there when there isn’t a real reason to. They’re practically alone in the office— she could just go home for the night, and not press it. The rest of the team seems quietly confused, but just... lets him have his privacy.

Emily gets up and knocks on the door, tentative, gentle. “Hotch?” 

It doesn’t startle him, but it’s… unexpected. When he calls his visitor in, the door opens to Prentiss, a furrow of— something— in her brow. He’s nearly relieved that it’s not… god, he doesn’t know. Somebody else. 

“I thought you’d gone home,” he says, voice a little quieter than he’d intended. “Is everything all right?” 

They’re both quiet. She comes through the door and sits in front of his desk— it’s piled high enough to make her anxious. Emily shakes her head, not quite looking into his face. 

“Figured maybe you could use my help. If you wanted it.” He’s shed his suit jacket and turned up his sleeves, hands still busy rifling through the papers and writing in quick, bold pen strokes. 

Aaron opens his mouth to tell her it’s all right, this isn’t her problem— to tell her to go home. But his eyes trail to the files around him and something in him aches defeatedly. He drops his gaze, too. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I’d… appreciate that.” 

It’s surprisingly reassuring, this small kindness after… everything happening at home. Remembering that there’s something here at work that isn’t planning to go away. 

Emily starts sorting through a stack and marking off what Aaron needs to sign himself, filling in information when she knows it. The quiet is more comforting, now, less isolated. And there’s an easing feeling— she can help him, and feel more deserving.

“Were you planning on staying here all night?” It’s an idle question and yet not so.

A chuckle— it’s a little hollow but he briefly entertains the improbable hope that Prentiss won’t notice. “In all honesty, it’s beginning to sound like a good idea. Get a bit more done, catch up on things… what could be better.” His tone’s just dry enough to be teasing. God, he hates this.

Her eyebrows raise, looking up just enough to aim a skeptical look at Hotch. What is going _ on _ with him? He’d admitted to the issues the team had been having, part of showing his trust in her, but he hadn’t mentioned any of his own— based on the way he’s here, rather than home— marital problems. Didn’t couples with a young child typically experience marital issues, anyway? It was probably more extreme when one of the parents was away so often. 

But how can she say anything like that? She hasn’t been married or had children. Emily literally cannot relate. “We should put in a room where people can get a nap if they need to,” she puts forth, not really meaning it. But at the same time he looks like he needs it. A lot. 

A distant smile, nodding as he keeps his eyes fixed on his work. “That’s true enough. Wouldn’t trust Garcia to use it for purely workplace-appropriate activities, though.” He’s avoiding the obvious question and he knows it— can feel her eyes on him. “I can sleep later, it’s all right.” 

That startles a chuckle out of her, dropping her gaze, feeling him pull away in some sense. Emily goes back to her work, making the piles go away one sheet at a time. At least they’re making a dent— she knows she’s helping with efficiency, at least. 

“Aren’t you the one who’s telling us to take some time, if we need it? That should... go for you, too.” It’s dangerously close to telling him what to do. Insubordination. But she cares without quite knowing why. 

Aaron sighs a little. “Right now, working here is my time off.” It’s true— work’s a distraction now, something vivid and engaging that he’s throwing himself into with abandon. Anything to keep his mind off the empty house. Or soon to be empty. They work through the papers, shrinking the pile steadily. He’s grateful she’s here. 

Her face goes blank, after that. There’s no other way to hide the startled reaction she could have had, the implications— she’d want to say sorry to him, and to ask how he is— things he obviously doesn’t want to talk about or be questioned about. So she’s quiet, and finally they seem to be done, the piles reduced to outgoing paperwork and current case files.

Emily find her feet, shakes out her hands. It’s the middle of the night— past exhaustion. “Mind walking me to my car?” 

“Of course.” Aaron stands. The office is empty enough that it doesn’t take much time to close up. Jacket over his shoulder, he opens the door for Prentiss, and they make their way to her car. It’s dark— the city long since either gone to bed or sprung sleepily to life. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, when they’ve arrived. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

Usually, she doesn’t bother getting some sort of chaperone to her own car— the Bureau's lot is probably the safest place around, but it is late, and there’s no reason to be stupid. With him beside her, jacket off, sleeves rolled up— it’s a very different feeling that just a walk to her vehicle.

Emily unlocks the door before answering, turning to face Hotch— a little closer to him than normal. “Neither did you.” 

It doesn’t take long for the inevitable. No amount of half-concealed pleading will change Haley’s mind once it’s set. It’s ironic that this insistent, principled stubbornness was one of the reasons he’d fallen in love with her.

She’s leaving him, and God— how can he put up a fight, even for Jack? She’s right— he’s barely at home enough as it is, and he couldn’t be anywhere close to a good father alone. The attempt at convincing himself it’s altruism only lasts until the defeat sets in. Everything he feels towards them is futile now. The sharp, insistent pain that comes when he misses them means nothing to them now.

They all witnessed Hotch get served divorce papers— that’s how they found out— Emily assumes a few weeks later that he’s finally signed them as the weird phone calls routed through JJ cease. 

None of them quite know how to handle it— none of them have been parents, or married, as far as she knows. What could they really say to make it better, when they stare down so much— more immediate problems every day? Some of his mail— like, his real mail, clearly meant for Hotch to get at home, ends up at the office with a note of ‘wrong address’ on it. She looks up his real address, the one currently in his file, and sees it isn’t very far— an apartment. Before she even gets close the building Emily’s pretty sure this isn’t the home he’d been living in with his family— it’s not as nice for kids as he could probably afford. Walks up to the place, and knocks. He’s probably here, if he had come straight for work before she’d left. Her voice is a little shy, gaze ducked, when Hotch answers the door. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” he replies, an eyebrow raised. He feels underdressed now— Prentiss’ still in her work clothes, a few papers clutched in her hands. “Good to see you again. You all right?” 

Aaron can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking of him right now. An obviously tiny apartment, clothes that probably don’t fit him well— not to mention how tired he must look. The self pity is overwhelming at times. He wishes that _ this _didn’t have to be the thing that just happened to change the whole BAU’s opinion of him. 

“I’m fine,” she assures him, quickly, swallowing around a _ sir _. It’s weird, but predictable, the way she always wants to fall back to that formal phrasing around Hotch. Emily looks up with a note of chagrin. “Your... mail. Was dropped off at work by—”

Emily can’t help but notice what he looks like out of suit, reminded of how she lounges around her own place at times. Wondering if she looked so tired, so worn as Hotch does right now. “I should have left it on your desk, but it was personal mail, and someone could have seen it, or something. I’m... sorry.” 

“No, it’s alrght,” Aaron says— swallows the ache and takes the letters with as much of a smile as he can manage. “I appreciate that. Thank you, Emily.” 

Her eyes go a bit wide— of course he calls her that, when they have to introduce each other on the job, but... this is different. It strikes her how the team often functions the same, even when they’re between cases, with the nicknames and the work appropriate banter. They don’t hang out.

“Do you need anything?” Emily offers, thinking about how difficult it’s been, to move by herself, to go back to being independent. “Anything,” she repeats, gently. 

A chuckle, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m doing alright— it just gets quiet around here, more often than I’m used to. You could come over for coffee, sometime.” Her voice is far more gentle than he’s heard from her at work— she really means it, and he can’t quite describe the way he feels about that. She knows him well enough to know better than to laugh at the implications of his newly unmarried status, and he appreciates that, too. It just gets lonely, on occasion. 

Nods with a smile, shifting away, letting him have some distance— the invitation is for sometime, as in _ not now _. “I could cook, too. Housewarming is practically my specialty.” There’s implications there, but they have to leave those aside. Emily can be friends— Hotch needs someone around, that she can see.

“Just tell me when.” If she were to examine what she’s feeling, she’d find herself uncomfortably accommodating. She just wants to help. She can be appropriate, they’re— they can be friends. 

“Thank you,” Aaron says simply— trusts her to see how much he means it. “For that and these.” He won’t say any more, but she understands. She’s already stepping away, moving to leave, and he smiles slightly and finds it doesn’t feel hollow. “See you tomorrow.” 

It’s weird, knowing that while everyone might suspect he’s moved someplace on his own, Emily’s the only one who actually has seen the place, even if just the outside. Somehow, being in on that fact makes it easier to interact with Hotch. Pleasant, business-like. He still seems frayed, but less like he’s avoiding something— there’s nothing more to avoid, besides the isolation.

Eventually, he does send her a text with a proposed date and time— Saturday afternoon. Presumably so they can both sleep in, Emily assumes. She fusses a bit with her clothes, compromising with something comfortable and friendly. 

She turns up on time, with a smile, less shy this time— she’s been invited. “Good to see you again,” Emily greets, a little formal still. 

“You too. Come in.” Aaron opens the door for her— the familiar smell of her perfume follows her in. It’s comforting too, by now. A chuckle as he shows her to the living room— it’s small but the minimal decorations make it seem a little more spacious. “Coffee’s just about ready— hoping it’s better than whatever they serve at the office. How do you take yours?” 

Thankfully, she’s in more casual clothes, too. His t-shirt and jeans would feel out of place if it was impeccable Agent Prentiss in his living room instead. 

Emily almost laughs, passing him by to enter his apartment, slipping off her shoes politely— being barefoot in Hotch’s— Aaron’s apartment wasn’t something she had expected in her life when she first started working at the BAU. 

Looking around the place it seems a bit drab, but the furnishings help it seem more like his, less plain than it could have been for having just moved in. Small— the kitchen and the living room are separated by a half wall. Neat— though she could have expected that. Emily takes a seat on the sofa. “Plenty of sugar, no cream. I bet... you let people think you’d take it black, but you don’t actually. Milk in your coffee, maybe?” She guesses, teasing. 

“Don’t profile me in my own house,” Aaron says, aggrievedly. He sets Emily’s mug down in front of her, making a mock attempt to hide his own— decidedly not black. “You’ve done good work, but I can’t have you telling people things like that. I need to be respected.” 

He chuckles as he sits down across from her, a bit relieved that the coffee isn’t terrible when he takes a tentative sip. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughs, holding back a pleased smile at the implied compliment. “I won’t tell.” Emily takes a sip, nodding— he did pretty well, given that they don’t generally make coffee for each other. He took the chair by himself— still getting used to having her around, maybe.

God, she needs to stop reading into everything. “My place isn’t quite as nice as yours, I think. Certainly not as neat,” a little self deprecating chuckle. 

“There’s not much to do here other than keep the place up, really,” Aaron says, sparing the clean walls a glance. “I’m sure your place is at least more interesting than mine. I can only read Spencer’s recommendations for so long until I have to get out of the house to maintain my sanity.” 

Emily looks thoughtful, considering her collection of books, the things she’s held onto from place to place. “It’s in an interesting neighborhood, anyway. If you want, I could lend you some of my books— I don’t know what Reid loaned to you, but my impression is his favorites are somewhat random? Because he just reads. Everything.”

She wonders what he likes to read, given a choice— covering disappointment, maybe, that he calls Reid ‘Spencer’ in private— that explains being called Emily, then. She doesn’t know why that disappoints her. 

“What are some of your own favorites?” 

“I like Hugo, usually. Browning, or Whitman, maybe. Mary Oliver, if we’re talking modern. But I can’t really choose a favorite.” Sips his coffee again, smiling over the rim. “Yours?” 

A smile finds its way onto her face— romantics, although possibly more solemn than she might have expected Aaron would enjoy privately. Emily has to duck away from his own smile, thinking about what to say. 

“Vonnegut and I suppose Phillip K. Dick and to a lesser degree, Atwood. Less overlap there, but you might like Alias Grace, maybe.”. 

Aaron nods thoughtfully. “Thank you, I’ll look into that.” He enjoys the little glimpses of her off-work self— science fiction writers and novelists, topics she likes. Wonders about her life outside work and reading, about the reason she bites her lip like that. 

“Now I’ve gone and convicted myself. Is it too late to say someone impressive and non-romantic? Nietzsche or something.” He makes a face. 

God. Emily looks over at him, suddenly in earnest. “Hugo is impressive, don’t worry. All of yours are, really,” she’s trying to be reassuring— her brown eyes meeting his.

He seems... softer, with that little face, like he can’t believe he admitted he reads Hugo for fun. As if that’s a flaw. Emily breaks her gaze before it goes too long, sipping her coffee again, trying not to flush. 

Shaking his head, Aaron chuckles, watching her break eye contact. “Thank you. Yours are, too.” She’s blushing— whether from embarrassment or something else, he can’t tell. It’s strange, seeing her blush. Makes her more human, somehow. 

There’s a bit of silence— Aaron’s good enough to let her recover some. It doesn’t help that he’s the distraction, at the moment. “Do you cook?” Emily asks, just to have something to say— it’s too soon to feel awkward and leave, and she wants to see him laugh again. Smile again. 

“A little,” he sighs. “Not much, now. I used to be alright at it, but…” he laughs quietly, covering his face with a hand. “I tried making spaghetti, last week. Put the water on the stove and completely forgot about it until half an hour later when the water boiled away and the pot set the fire alarm off.” 

Pulls his hand down his face and smiles ruefully at Emily. “I’m far from Dave, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh no...” Emily tries not to laugh, but it’s difficult. She ends up letting out a few giggles behind a hand. “But come on, you don’t need to be a chef like Dave to not burn water. You could...” 

She pauses, catching Aaron’s eyes. “You could let me come over and teach you a few things. How are you supposed to be a good unit chief if you’re here putting out fires, exactly?” 

“You’re right,” he admits. “I’d appreciate a few pointers.” Their mugs are nearly empty, but he doesn’t especially want her to go. “You’re welcome anytime.” 

He can’t really imagine having another team member over this so soon, after everything. Emily’s the last person he would have expected to be so comfortable with, and yet. Here she is, laughing in his living room. And he _ likes _having her there. 

It’s nice to be invited again— practically having a standing invitation— unexpected, even. Aaron had struck her as an incredibly private person, necessarily so. In order to maintain that work persona. But he isn’t as stoic as she’d thought. He gets tired and frustrated and sad. Terribly sad, even if he still doesn’t show that to her exactly.

At work, things continue to go well. It’s easy to be just his subordinate, and come over and teach him how to make bruschetta or something simple, with not a lot of steps or ingredients. Have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. Emily gets the impression that she’s making his apartment more homelike just by being there. Doesn’t know what to do with that information, or how to feel about it. But it’s nice to be needed.

It’s after a conversation at work— she’s frustrated and a little withdrawn— telling Aaron she’d wished she could look after the teenager whose immediate family had been murdered feels like a mistake but his reprimand was gentle. And she still wants to come over after work, so it must be okay. 

Emily arrives, does some prep with Aaron watching what she’s doing— they sit to eat and drink, both a little quiet. He’s still not especially easy to read, not with his face so still. 

“Emily,” he says quietly, after a while. “What you said earlier— about the case. Did you really mean that? Just in terms of wanting kids, I mean.” It’d been interesting, a new aspect of her— he hadn’t been able to gauge her attitude towards children in general before now. Aaron can’t help but wonder if it was a one-time situation. The question is a bit out of the blue, but he’s glad they don’t have to dodge around things like that. 

Her eyes are wide, looking across at Aaron before dropping down to her plate. It’s such an... intimate question, but she can see what prompted him to ask. And it would be nice to know where her coworkers stood on the issue— but it’s one of those too personal topics, it seems like. Aaron asking her is... interesting. Indicative of them being close.

“Well... I do wish I could help more kids with the means that I do have.” A pause, contemplative. “I think that as part of my life, I’d like to have a child of my own, yes. Whether that meant adopting, or _ having _ a child, it doesn’t matter as much. I guess I’d have to plan it, though. So far that sort of thing hasn’t happened on it’s own.” 

Gently, she asks, “Do you wish you still had...” 

He looks away— although things are getting better, he still misses Jack desperately. 

“I do. Very much.” A little laugh, remembering. “Not a day goes by when I don’t miss him. But I imagine he’s happier now.” 

He hadn’t expected her to say what she’d said— to want a child, hers or not. It’s something oddly… gentle. Something in him feels a bit softer, hearing it. 

Her teeth bite down on her lip, around some uncertain thoughts— complaints or opinions in divorce, custody, emotional neglect— Aaron doesn’t need to hear them if he hasn’t asked. Even his wording on that painful statement tries to make the best of it. 

“I hope that true.” It’s a struggle to come up with something neutral. “I don’t know where that leaves you, though. I wish we had someone on our team who’d been a parent, who could talk to you about it.” Aaron seems like the kind of person who needs a child in his life, to be— a role model for. To support. 

“It’s alright,” Aaron says quietly. “Or at least, it will be. I’ll adjust after a while—I don’t expect it to come easily at first.”

“You know the team would be there for you, right?” Without being asked, it's as close Emily can get to saying how she feels. A little laugh, awkward, “Not that I haven't enjoyed our cooking lessons, or anything. “ 

A nod. “You’re right. It’s not the best approach, keeping so quiet.” Aaron meets her laugh without misgivings. “I’ve enjoyed them, too.” He appreciates it more than he can say. Not being alone. 

“And I mean, how can you pass up getting advice from everyone? Reid with reassuring statistics, Morgan with inappropriate ‘little black book’ jokes...” Emily laughs, more genuinely. “I'm sure they all would want to help you. However they could.” 

“Yes, that’s what I need.” Aaron sighs in mock resignation, leaning back against the seat. “Stats on _ just _how likely I am to either find a partner or live in this bachelor pad for the rest of my life.” He laughs, running a helpless hand through his hair. “Reassuring.” 

“He might say something like that.” A pause, gauging just how willing she is to ask and hear the answer, “Do you? Want to find a partner?” He's just so nice looking, when he can manage to relax for half a second. 

“In all honesty? I’m not really sure.” Aaron’s thoughtful, actually… considering what he’s ready for. “I’m not about to go out and look. May not be ready for that for a while. Ever— who knows?” A slight smile, mostly to himself. “Not to sound _ too _Austen, but maybe if they’re the right one, they’ll just show up.” 

Emily raises her eyebrows, mildly. That he isn't ready now isn't a shock, but somehow she'd imagined he would be more of Loving Only Once type. Is it her own self interest that reads into _ they’ll _ rather than _ she'll _? 

“Anything is possible,” Emily allows, “But no one on our team is romantically involved, unless I'm mistaken—” She stops short of asking whether he'd really date a subordinate.

Aaron laughs. “Of course. But you know you’re all terribly intimidating. Derek’s far out of my league, I’m afraid.” His tone’s teasing and he’s surprised at how easy it is. To talk about dating inside the team, even as a concept, even a guy— a part of himself he’d ignored for years.

She doesn’t quite know what to make of that statement, honestly. He sounds like he’s joking, but why joke about that, or about Morgan specifically? She doesn’t want to misunderstand—

“So you’re... you’d...” 

“Yes, gender’s not a deciding factor for whether I’m attracted to someone. No—“ he laughs again, a little incredulous at the prospect— “I’m not interested in Derek. But thank you for the concern.” 

“I’d be your wingman, if that’s what you really wanted,” Emily teases, somewhat weakly. “But okay. Maybe someone will pop up for you. You’ll just meet them jogging one day.” She doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore. “We just want you to be happier than you’ve been.”

“Thank you.” He takes her hand, brushing it with his thumb. “That means a lot to me.” 

Eventually they move on to something else, something less fraught. Several more weeks pass— Emily has a standing time to show up at Aaron’s every week, and they only miss it when there’s a case. Gradually his place seems more like a home— she hopes she had something to do with it.

It’s strange and nice at the same time, being back at work with the presence of at least a little acknowledgment of what happened between them. Or at least, what had been there— it takes Aaron a good few days to be sure that he hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. The warmth of Emily’s hands, the sudden, unexpected intimacy of that smile he hadn’t seen on her before it feels undeserved. As if there’d been some mistake, and those things were intended for somebody else. But the days pass, and those things remain, if subtly, affecting little aspects of their interactions with each other. 

He still can’t believe she’d been all right with that. He hadn’t expected to show his hand so soon.

It’s in the little glances, struggling to concentrate on paperwork, looking up into Aaron’s office window, or his chair glancing hers at the team meetings— things that don’t have to mean anything. He’s as formal and stern as always. Emily’s almost glad there isn’t a case to go off to so soon, wouldn’t want to read into how he assigned things all of the sudden, or like she’d be scrutinized in some new way.

By the middle of the week, she’s realized Aaron isn’t going to ask her out by text or phone call— he’s had plenty of opportunity to that. Which means that he’ll probably ask her when she comes over on Saturday afternoon. Except there’s that nagging worry that he’s reconsidered, that he isn’t ready to date— or just doesn’t want to deal with the fallout of dating his subordinate. Emily shows up to their standing meet-up with unusually chapped lips, having done more worrying and less cooking prep.

It doesn’t feel right, asking her out any other way than face to face—he waits maybe a little too long, with something like nervousness that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He regrets it when he sees the tension in her shoulders. 

“Emily,” he says, smiling— takes a surprisingly courage-requiring step forward to hug her, briefly. The atmosphere’s only a little different, and he appreciates that. He still feels like he’s friends with her. 

“Aaron,” she teases, trying a small smile, stepping into the apartment once his arms drop. Emily’s gaze is wavery, looking up at him— he’s so warm-looking, of course everything is okay, he wouldn’t have hugged her if— God. She’s more nervous than she’d like to ever let on. “I brought sandwich fixings, sorry if that’s too simple for you—” 

“No, that’s fine.” A chuckle, as they move into the kitchen. “Simple is good.” They set the food out, hands brushing over the bread and cheese. “Is everything all right?” he murmurs, not looking at her— an absence of pressure to speak. “You’re tense.” 

Her gaze drops entirely, unsure whether to be honest or passive aggressive or what. Emily’s first instinct with Aaron would be to be honest, of course, but she’s not sure that isn’t a product of him being her boss, not her overall inclination. In this case, how would she normally answer a question like that, if it was just from a romantic prospect in general, not Aaron specifically?

She mulls this over, biting at her lip again, slicing a tomato, carefully arranging it on a piece of bread. “I’m okay.” It’s kind of a half-assed answer, she knows this. 

“I’m glad.” It’s an over-simple answer, but she knows he’d be able to see that. He trusts her. 

It doesn’t take long to finish, as everything is relatively easy to prepare. They sit in the living room like before, but he sits beside her— there’s no need for the careful distance of a new acquaintance. For the next few minutes, all they do is eat. There’s a sense of relief, there— Emily isn’t sure she was up to being watched while eating— isn’t that an irrational thing to worry over after being so frazzled over the whole date thing? 

A lot is on her mind, about Aaron, about dating in general— she can’t remember the last date she went on. College, maybe. Finding someone who was as serious about work as she had been almost impossible— and shared values, even more difficult. Even then, casual hadn’t really appealed. She can’t think of what to say, it’s awkwardly quiet. 

“God,” Aaron says after a moment, “This is terrible—” He sets down his sandwich solemnly. “Emily Prentiss, would you _ please _go out with me so we can talk like normal people again.” He bites back a laugh. 

“Did you have to ask like you were proposing?” Emily can’t help but laugh, her full name was so overdone. “Yes, I will.” She answers, mock seriously. A real smile this time. He’s so sweet, so much more than she could have anticipated when she just had a crush. “How many dates have you been on exactly?” 

“Not many,” Aaron admits. “Mostly with Haley, although there were a few scattered ones before then. I didn’t have the time or the inclination— most of my peers would have wanted something more casual, anyway.” Ducks his head, as if this too is some kind of confession. “I found myself incapable of that.” 

“I thought you married out of high school, that’s fairly understandable if it’s true.” Emily allows, carefully putting a hand on his knee when he looks down. “That was my problem in college, too. A lot of questions as to why I wasn’t interested in _ just _ going out or _ just _ hooking up. And now I’m older. And busier.” 

“Same with me,” Aaron sighs. “With work, there’s not many people who would want a relationship that entails what our job entails. Being away so much, and the stress—“ A little smile, at her hand on his knee.

“But then, would you understand my job? Who will complain about my boss to, after a difficult day at work?” Emily looks at him sidelong, teasing with her eyes. 

“Complain to _ me _about your boss,” Aaron says plaintively, turning to meet her eyes. “It’s good workplace communication.” 

“That doesn't seem very realistic. I can't just let off steam like that.” She breaks eye contact, fidgeting with her plate. 

“Complain to Dave then,” Aaron chuckles. “I imagine he’d be more than glad to listen.” He puts a gentle hand on hers. “I know we can make this work. I just— I’d like to make sure you’re comfortable with me both in and out of our jobs. Complain, by all means.” 

It’s too— private to confess just _ how much _ Emily wants to do well by Aaron, at work and out of it. Fears of scaring him off, maybe. Approval-seeking isn’t that attractive, she’s pretty sure. A nod, anyway, acknowledging what he said. “I can’t tell someone I’m going on dates with that my boss is attractive, either,” she laughs a little, trying to be less serious. 

A beat as he furrows his brow in mock realization. “I imagine my date wouldn’t much care about the crush I have on one of my agents, either,” he says resignedly. “It seems like an inappropriate thing to bring up.” 

A little too sharp, “How long have you had this crush, exactly?” It’s less embarrassing than asking outright for compliments. Emily shakes her head at Aaron, disapprovingly. 

He thinks for a little while. “I walked her out to her car, once— although I’m not sure if I realized it then. All I knew was that I didn’t feel with anyone else the way I felt with her. Her mind’s… pretty, I guess you could say, although that wouldn’t be entirely accurate. Sharp, maybe.” 

Emily tucks her smile away, leaning carefully into Aaron— just against his side, resting a bit of her face to his shoulder. “That sounds very appropriate, I think.” It’s not quite teasing, but close. Although he’s hardly the type to make everything about— physical stuff— 

“I don’t know,” he hums, equally as teasing. Tries not to get too distracted by how close she is. “Were you expecting me to talk about something else?” 

Her smiles twists a bit, shrugging. “No, I think that’s about what I expected.” They haven’t even been on _ a _ date yet, she can hardly expected to have her praises sung— or even really want that, really. Emily’s more curious about what makes her different from their other coworkers, exactly— to be the person Aaron wanted to ask out. 

Aaron nods, still thinking. “She _ is _pretty, though. Very much so. Smart as hell, but not… overdone about it.” A little chuckle. “Not a Spencer. She’s stubborn, or at least enough not to back down easily when told no. I like that.” 

“Everyone on the team pushes back, given a reason—” she’s thoughtful, not trying to be contradictory. “You aren’t so bad yourself. Assuming one’s into stoic manly men.” Emily chuckles at that, the stereotype. 

“Ah yes,” Aaron sighs in mostly mock resignation. “That’s all I am.” He's struggling to put into words just _ why _he’s so attracted to Emily, to the way she thinks, the way she words things. The way she looks is something he’s not even about to approach— that’s a whole realm of thought he’s not about to get into with her so close. 

“Well, you do sort of play your own interests close to your chest.” Emily points out, reasonably enough. “Half of the stuff we’ve discussed now, I had no idea you were even interested in. Like what you like to read, for example.” She looks up at him, gentle. Smiling. 

He drops his eyes just as a means to break eye contact but lands at her mouth instead. Which is close. Another thing not to think about. 

“I— have to, really. ‘Stoic manly men’ tend to be respected, or at least in terms of the workplace. The team needs a leader, so that’s what I am.” A quiet laugh. “Can’t imagine a particular few of them would see me the same if they knew certain aspects of my personality. I keep them under wraps for a reason.” 

A little nod. “Just like I’m a bit of an ice queen, if I do say so myself. I wonder if any of the others feel like they’re putting on a work persona, and why— you, for respect and authority. My reasoning is about the same, just... “ Emily trails off. “I understand Garcia navigating things through a comforting act, but what about the rest? It’s hard to imagine JJ as anyone but herself at work.” 

She’s suddenly introspective, thinking. 

“I know Spencer’s probably… pretty true to himself, at least at work. Don’t think he’s capable of being much else,” Aaron smiles to himself. “Derek… Derek likes to be seen as strong, on top of it all. And Dave likes to seem sure of himself. I doubt that it’s easy, staying completely honest to who you are in a setting like this.” 

“No wonder we aren’t allowed to profile each other,” Emily chuckles, weakly. “Well, I’m glad you’re able to be more of yourself in private,” the _ with me _, left unsaid. 

“Yes,” Aaron says, “with you.” Leans to kiss her gently on the cheek, for just a moment. “It means more than I can say.” 

God. He’s so— gentle, even when saying the things she can’t. It’s almost overwhelming, in a way, but brief enough that Emily can pull herself together and they can finally finish their meal. She says goodnight nearly the same way, using the door as support to lean up and kiss Aaron’s cheek. They have a day in mind, assuming they don’t have to postpone, but not a time or a place— he’s supposed to let her know.

The idea of going out on a date, itself, isn’t scary— she’s spent enough time alone with Aaron to know that they can talk about almost anything for a little bit. Mostly, it’s an opportunity— to give herself permission to feel if they have chemistry. The time in between now, and their date, Emily spends trying to decide what she needs to have clean, for what kind of date, trying not to think too much about his mouth or his hands or his voice, God. She’s impatient. 

Aaron just… thinks about her, mostly. When prompted, he’d given the relatively safe allusion to her mind, which… yes. As far as minds go, it’s a terribly attractive one. He’d stayed away from physical things, though, not wanting to seem— shallow. 

But… god. He finds his mind wandering. 

Everything he remembers from the night at the hotel— the warmth of her skin, the smell of her hair, the early morning shift that pressed her chest to him for just a moment before she turned again… 

It’s only alone that he gives himself the luxury of thinking about her that… extensively. And if that, only for a little while. Not enough to get— too involved. That’s the last thing he needs right now. Thinking about any other aspects of her when she’s right in front of him. 

Aaron gives her a time and a place— Emily resists looking up exactly where he’s taking her— trusting him when he says it isn’t terribly fancy. Early enough in the fall that she doesn’t have to wear something heavy just to be comfortable. Takes a Lyft rather than worry about parting at the restaurant or parking.

She’s not proud of how long she spent getting ready for this date— she’s not in full makeup and hair, but it’s close. Why would there be the need to overdo when Aaron’s seen her exhausted from work, bloody or bruised? Emily doesn’t know, really. Maybe it’s ingrained, to try to impress him even after all this time.

Arrives on time, checks her makeup one last time— God, she keeps biting into her lipstick— and heads inside to find Aaron. 

Thankfully, he knows more than a few little places in town that won’t put pressure on Emily to get _ too _dressed up. This one, a well-kept but intimate Italian place on a corner, is owned by a couple who had been Aaron’s clients a few years back. He’d won the case— they keep in regular touch now. When he calls to make a reservation, the wink is audible in the man’s voice. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Aaron protests, but he’s assigned the most overtly romantic seats in the place, overlooking a window that opens out onto the city. He supposes he should be grateful, but the nervousness still tags at him. 

Emily’s beautiful, of course. Some dark, patterned dress that reminds Aaron distantly of someone out of a book— he stands to hug her, both of them making their greetings as they sit down. It’s late enough that the candles in the restaurant are beginning to replace the light of the day. 

He looks good, if a bit tense— Emily presses a kiss to his cheek before they step out of their hug— it’s somehow incredibly nice just to have that little contact with him. By the way they’ve been seated, and the way the server talks, Emily supposed Aaron might know someone here— that makes her a bit more relaxed— he’s comfortable enough here, probably. 

They both get a glass of wine and settle in, looking out the window, stealing glances across the table at each other. There’s an urge to lean forward and run a finger up his shirt buttons, hold his jaw for a kiss— Emily finds herself ducking away to hide a flush.

“How’d you guess this is the kind of place I’d like?” She asks, not quite idly. “Not just a little authentic non-chain but...” Small. Italian. She could understand guessing that _ Dave _ would like it, but what could have made him pick this place— or maybe he just likes this place, and wanted to share it with her. She’s struck with how little she knows of his background. 

He smiles, looking over the small room, the few other tables filled. “Maybe it was a little selfish— I’ve always liked this place. And I didn’t think you’d be one for chains or…” More public places. He likes it here, the way it feels like it’s only them. “Pretentious places. And in all honesty, I received a recommendation from a friend. He told me Italian’s nice for a first date.” 

“Not choosing a pretentious place was a good idea— I wouldn’t be able to have a good time if I saw the prices were ridiculous,” Emily laughs. They both could, in theory, afford that sort of thing, especially now that Aaron’s not supporting anyone else, but she thinks frugality must be learned on the job or something. Tending toward comfort and ease rather than class markers. 

“It is a classic, true. What kind of food do you like, when you have the time to actually sit down and have a meal?” It’s such a cliche, asking first date questions, not quite brave enough to ask— where are you from— what did you grow up eating— 

“Well, before I’d always order the spaghetti, just because—“ he laughs, “Well, you’ve heard about my failings there. But someone taught me to cook, so I guess I’m lost now.” In terms of his preferences, he hasn’t thought about things like that in a while. There’s a distant memory of Haley’s tomato soup and her laughing when he didn’t get the recipe right, but he can’t tell if it was the food he liked or just how happy she was making it. He shrugs a little. “Can’t really decide. You?” 

Emily laughs with him— he has a somewhat distant look, for a moment, one that makes her want to catch his eyes and look into them. “I think what I like most is food from the places I grew up abroad. Living in the midwest for a decade was... tragic. At least on the east coast there’s a bit more variety. Uh... I like Lebanese and Italian best, I suppose.” She likes variety, but also... familiarity.

“Glad I guessed right, then.” He's a little fascinated— she’s been so many more places than he has. “I imagine you’ve had the opportunity to try food from _ actual _Italy.” He smiles ruefully, as their server approaches. “Hope this doesn’t bore you.” 

“I have, though I don’t think I appreciated what I had until I moved back here for college and work,” a quick shake of her head, giving her order— a risotto dish with green beans and chicken. 

“Not with you as my company, it couldn’t.” Emily’s eyes are almost piercing, taking his hand the moment the server goes away again. “Where did you grow up, anyway? You always give off this corn-fed American boy vibe, but... that seems too straightforward.” 

A moment of accustoming, to her hand on his and her gaze— he smiles, shakes his head. “Less honorable than that, I’m afraid. I grew up in Seattle. But I lived around a good few places before I ended up here in Virginia. The weather took some getting used to but other than that… I’ve enjoyed it. A little less rainy, warmer.” He squeezes her hand, a bit teasing. “I’m glad to know that’s the impression I’ve been giving off, though. Should I be flattered?” 

“You miss the rain and the cool?” She asks, not quite incredulous. “I generally prefer warm and dry, all else being equal. The midwest was cold.” Emily breaks his gaze for a moment, considering. “I think it’s a combination of knowing you from work and in private. You’re reserved. Modest.” She means mostly in demeanour, presence. The words that she’d used to describe his private personality are all too intimate. Gentle. Tender. Sweet. 

Aaron tilts his head. “That’s interesting to hear. I’ve wondered, how I come across to you all. I wouldn’t have minded, if you’d said plain.” He drops his eyes, laughs quietly. “I can see how I’d easily be classified that way.” 

“You can be a bit of a hard-ass, especially when I first joined up. But— we got through it, right? I got to see that soft interior under your tough shell,” Emily laughs a little, trying to tease him gently— not meaning to hurt him. “We all need something steady in our lives— ‘plain’ is just another word for stable. Imagine if a big personality ran our team instead— an ego, a political player.” 

He winces a little, imagining. “Maybe that’s the reason I’m plain—imagine an ego interacting with _ Garcia _every day.” The thought’s laughably disastrous. “But I’m glad I’m there, if you all feel you can count on me.” 

A bit curiously, “How long ago did you get promoted to unit chief? It feels like you’ve been doing it forever, but you were technically Dave’s subordinate when he retired, right?” That’s one of the things they don’t quite discuss, how long everyone has been doing anything— it’s like they’d be question each other’s experience, or skill set, or something. 

“Technically, yes. It was interesting, when he came back, to have him working for me. It’s been— seven or so years I’ve been in this position, but it was a big decision initially. I’d wanted the position for years, but once it was offered I felt, well. Unprepared. Honestly, I’m glad you weren’t here for the first few months.” He smiles, rueful. “I would have wanted to impress you. With the amount of experience I had, it wouldn’t have gone well.” 

Emily nods, sympathizing— feeling in over your head isn’t unique, not in this sort of job. “That’s how I felt when I first started at the BAU.” A light sigh. She pulls away so the server can set down their dishes, looking down at the table— then up across to Aaron, with a smile. “Good thing I arrived when I did, then. So you could impress me just the right amount.” 

“I wasn’t trying at first,” Aaron chuckles, as they begin the meal. “I wanted to, after a while. Kept noticing myself noticing where you were in the room, what you were doing—how I looked to you. I never really knew just how you thought of me— I’m afraid I must have been pretty hard on you for the first few weeks.” 

A shrug. “It’s understandable, given the circumstances.” Emily understands, but that didn’t make it any easier— but enough time has passed that it hurts less than it had. And Aaron’s had his own difficulties to deal with, too. “I’m just glad you gave me a chance.” Takes a few bites, nodding appreciatively at the food. 

“So am I.” He's glad that it doesn’t hurt her any more. He doesn’t like thinking about how suspicious he’d been, how guarded. Knows he had to, but she deserved better. “You’ve been… an incredibly valuable member of the team.” 

They stray away from that subject, finally— a little easier just to talk and eat. It’s just like being at his place, really— almost as quiet, not quite as intimate. “I don’t need desert tonight, do you?” Emily checks with Aaron, pressing her napkin to her mouth. 

“No, I’m all right.” They rise after finishing up, and he takes her hand as they leave the restaurant. “I’m assuming you didn’t drive— mind if I take you home?” 

The sun’s set, and the red in the sky fades as they come out onto the sidewalk. 

She leaned into him, holding his hand— it’s just warm enough outside of the restaurant. Looks up at Aaron, sidelong, a little teasing smile on her face. “Yours or mine?” It’d be a surprise if he actually wanted to but she couldn’t resist the opportunity. 

“I was implying yours,” Aaron laughs. “Although you seem quick to bring that up for the first date.” His tone is just as teasing as he meets her eyes. “I’d say I wouldn’t have expected it of you, but maybe I shouldn’t assume—“ 

They sit in his car— Emily laughs again, brightly. “Do you mean referencing, or... Because referencing that sort of thing is exactly the kind of thing I’d do. I’ve just been too polite to do it before— we’re friends.” She doesn’t exactly give off the impression of a good Catholic at work, she’s pretty sure. 

“No, I was pretty sure you were the kind of person to reference it in at least everyday conversation.” A lifted eyebrow at her in the passenger seat— he doesn’t look at her but it’s implicit. “I know you can’t possibly be all _that _polite.” 

A bit of hum. “I think we’re both reasonably polite. And yet I’ve caught you looking, once or twice.” It’s straightforward enough. “Give me a break, I haven’t graduated to innuendo yet.” 

Aaron’s thankful that they’re on the road now— it saves him from having to look at her as she… calls him out, really. “God help me when _ that _happens. Emily, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me.” 

He’s pulling over, into the spot near her drive. She leans across her own seat, bracing on the arm rest between them. “What gave it away?” Her mouth is so close to his, so near to his cheek and his lips. 

Aaron feels her lean in and turns— they’re not making contact but she’s close enough he can feel her breath on his lips. Can’t quite see her eyes… they’re dark in the dim shadows of the car, but she’s looking at him. “In the restaurant,” he murmurs, “You blushed looking anywhere on me that wasn’t my eyes.” 

“Profilers see too much.” God, she wants him in ways she can’t quite describe. Catches his lips, a hand on his jaw, keeping Aaron turned toward her. Kissing in the car rather than out on the street, or inside their apartments’— it’s almost juvenile. Emily keeps it soft, doesn’t want to push for more than they’re ready for. 

She turns him easily enough he wonders if she can _ tell _the way he goes pliant the moment she kisses him. It’s so good— he kisses her gently, carefully, just enough of a press to push them together without being insistent. Just… feeling her. Letting his eyes fall closed and taking her in. 

There’s a fragile nature to the kiss— wondering if she should stop, if she kisses too much like— if Aaron wants more, or less. It’s too much for just a little thing— Emily pulls away. Tentative, unsure, sitting back in her seat beside him. They’re taking things slow, that was slow. 

Aaron’s a bit pink when she pulls away, eyes wide— god, it’s strange. Kissing someone other than— but he stops that thought before it finishes. It doesn’t belong here— _ Emily _belongs here. In this post-kiss quiet, looking at each other a little dizzily, and he smiles at her. 

She smiles back, easing down because of him. It’s okay. “So, do I get a callback?” Her voice is edging onto weak, but the banter helps— it’s normal. Emily doesn’t want to leave his car until they’ve decided. 

“Yes,” Aaron says, a little too quickly, “God. Yes, please.” A laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think either of us were cut out for one-time dates.” 

“Or one-night stands, I’m guessing,” Emily can’t help but add, chuckling at her own ridiculousness. “Do you want to walk me to my door, or do you think I can get there safely on my own?” Her eyes find his— bright, laughing. 

“What,” says Aaron aggrievedly, “the hell kind of date do you think I am.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Emily unlocks her door and starts to slide out. 

“Of course I’m walking you to your door.” He laughs, following her around the car and accompanying her up to the house. It’s dark by now, and the light by the door is on. “Thank you for coming out with me today.” 

“Of course,” Emily laughs, too. Unlocks the door and turns back to hug Aaron again. “You’ve remarked on my impatience— don’t make me wait too long for the next date.” 

“Don’t worry,” Aaron promises, pecking her on the cheek. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” When she disappears inside the house he stays on the doorstep for just a moment, then heads back to his car. The ride home is a happiness so strange it’s nearly foreign, that little flutter in his chest. 

A few more dates— that’s all they can manage, with the hours they put in, and the travel time, and trying to do other things in their lives— all of them go about the same way. A night out, a kiss goodnight— it’s frustratingly chaste, but Emily isn’t sure what the alternative is. They haven’t outright discussed what they’d like to... do. Move in? Get married? She has no idea. Until then, they’re in a holding pattern of sorts. 

Her friend asks her to meet him at a bar— it’s a surprise and the news he has isn’t good. Neither is the case, such as it is. Confessing to Dave exactly what she did that was so bad— how lonely and isolated she felt, before and after— it’s too much.

The entire case is too much, it practically tore her apart. Emily finds herself crying in her car, in the bathroom of the BAU. Bumping not just against her old life but against her faith, against the team— feeling like up until the end, the only person who has her back is Dave— because this is a _ case _ , a _ work _ thing, and Aaron can’t back down just because they’re dating. 

She’s not proud of that last snub, even after he had eventually risked practically everything to do _ something _— it isn’t enough, she ends up walking away from Dave, and from Aaron— in the cold and the snow. Emily feels lost. Untethered.

At last she’s cold enough she can’t quite feel her hands, hailing a cab and making her way to Aaron. She— isn’t sure what there is to be said— doesn’t want to confront her boss or demand anything from her boyfriend— just needs Aaron, as himself, understand what his personal feelings had been, apart from the chief he had needed to be. Emily turns up at his place just past sunset, cold— fingers red, lips and cheeks chapped, the tiny bit of blood from her nose— she’s a mess. 

The knock on his door is quiet, a little hesitant— Emily looks so _ small _standing there, hugging herself a bit against the cold. There’s snow in her hair. 

“Emily,” he says quietly, stepping aside to let her in. A streak of red across her lip, as if she’d scrubbed at a bloody nose— he helps her take her coat off gently, brushing the snow from her cheeks and shoulders. “How long have you been out there, it’s so cold…” 

The warmth of Aaron's apartment makes her fingers tingle, almost painfully. Her mouth opens, tries to answer— stops. God, if she tries to talk she might start crying. Emily leans down to take off her boots, face stiff when she straightens, moves to the sink to run her hands under warm water. Doesn't know how to begin, what tone she wants to take.

She clears her throat with a cough, avoiding his eyes.“Hours, maybe. I don't know.” 

Aaron takes her hand, touching her cheek gently. “You’re still bleeding. Let me…” God. Dampens a tissue to help with the blood— at least the cold’s slowed it down. He keeps his touch faint enough not to overwhelm her, backs away when her face is clean. He can’t help but worry, there’s a blankness in her eyes he doesn’t know how to approach. 

A nod, holding still to let him wipe at her face. “Yeah, it just started doing that— weird. I'm not prone to—” Emily sighs, going over to the sofa, sitting heavily. 

“Did Dave tell you what—” She can't quite start, isn't sure how. 

“Dave told me what pertained to the case. If he thought something you told him should be a secret, he wouldn’t tell me.” A distant smile. “He’s like that.” He sits close to her, takes her cold hands, holding them tight. Wants to… smooth that line of tension between her brows, warm her up. “You can tell me whatever you need— but you don't have to.” Doesn’t ask if she’s all right… he knows better. 

She shivers, scoots that much closer to lean against Aaron, against his arm— she’s not just cold, Emily’s also starting to feel _ shaky _, not quite right. The last two days have been awful, barely sleeping, barely eating. “Matthew was my friend— he— when I was... younger— I got into trouble. The kind I couldn’t tell my parents about, the kind of scandal that would have gotten me disowned, probably. Especially because it was in Italy. He— helped me, even though he was the same age as me.” 

Aaron just looks at her, and she goes on, into the silence. “You don’t... talk about your beliefs at work, the way Morgan and Dave and Reid do. I don’t know what you would think about me— or how you would feel, or how much you’d care—” 

He pulls her into his arms, sits for a while, thinking. “You had a much different childhood than I did,” he says. “Maybe some choices you made weren’t the wisest, but that’s in the past.” Tips her chin up— he knows she can tell a lie from looking at the person speaking, and he needs her to know that what he’s saying is the truth. “I don’t think any different of you. I don’t know what your situation was back then, but I trust you now.” A kiss, to her cheek. “And I also think you need to eat something..” 

“I should be able to tell you, because— because we’re together, and maybe we’d need to have thought about it and,” Emily shivers, hands tight around the back of Aaron’s shoulders, not able to complete the thought. Her hands shake— she folds them together to control herself somewhat. “Not hungry.” God, she wants to look and believe him, but— right now, it’s too much, too much to look at Aaron and let him see her. “I got pregnant. I was underage.” Her head is lifted, but her gaze is dropped, face pinched like she’s going to start to cry. “Our priest told me not to— go to a doctor. But I did.” 

“Oh, Emily,” he murmurs— pulls her against his chest, close enough she can have the contact but not have to look at him. “It doesn’t change anything.” He doesn’t know how to say he wishes he could have done something. Could have taken care of her. 

But he can take care of her now. Or at least can try. 

Emily turns her face to his chest, breath hitching as the tears— tears of relief and shame mixed together— leak out onto his shirt, clutched safely against him. Aaron’s so warm, she never wants to be anywhere but here, safe against him. Aaron being able to accept her past without— reservations— she’s grateful. “I hate this case. I hate that— my friend is dead. I told Dave it was like he died for me, because of that path I put him on.” Her voice is getting more ragged, more fractured. “I know that it wasn’t really, but— how can I act any differently? If I’d tried a little harder, if only to pay him back for what he did to help me— maybe he would still be alive.”

Emily feels like she can’t stop crying— she’s nearly dry, catching her breath against him, eyes stinging. 

“You can’t change that now,” Aaron says, voice gentle but as firm as he can be right now. “I don’t… don’t know what I believe about God, but I think things happen the way they’re meant to. If we can’t… can’t go back and change things— tearing ourselves up is paralyzing. It kills us.” There’s— an unsteadiness to his voice he hadn’t expected. “You didn’t know. How could you have?” 

His shirt’s damp and his own eyes sting without him realizing it. 

“I’m dating an agnostic and didn’t even know it?” Emily tries to laugh and ends up coughing— sits up and leans back to look at Aaron. His eyes look like they’re holding back tears, too. “I’m sorry.” 

Aaron smiles, blinks hard. “You don’t need to be. I can understand why it wouldn’t be a thing you’d want to tell everyone.” Her cheeks are still wet— he brushes one with his thumb. “Thank you for trusting me.” 

“No, I’m—” Emily sighs, leaning against his hand. “If there’s—” She struggles to articulate, thinking about his face and gaze down at her. “I don’t know how to say sorry, for not being there for you before things got bad— for everything, really.” 

“It’s all right.” His smile is gentle. “There’s nothing we can do to change that. Maybe I… needed to be alone, for a little while. Who knows why. But I’m glad you’re here now.” 

Her face twists a bit. “I don’t really... think you should have had to suffer like that. And dating me— I don’t expect that to really make up for how you’ve felt. You don’t have to convince me everything worked out for the best. It’s not... you wouldn’t be putting me down.”

Emily runs a hand over Aaron’s jaw. “You’re allowed to tell me how you really feel. About anything.” 

There’s a long silence— he’s not crying, not really, but he feels like he could. Knows Emily can see that. When he speaks again, he drops his eyes… can’t look at her somehow. 

“I… don’t know how to stop loving Haley,” he says quietly, too-slow. He hates how unsteady his voice is. “I know I should. I think… it was easy for her, to stop. Or maybe she stopped a long time ago.” He cuts himself off with a quick, careful breath— forcing himself away from some invisible edge. “I was blind. It hurt so much at first because I thought I didn’t deserve it but…” He closes his eyes. “Emily, I think I _ did—” _

Emily’s quiet, pushing him back against the couch— not quite embracing him, but still up against his chest, face pressed into his skin along one side. She’s almost in his lap now, can feel his uneven breaths. 

“I’m not sure what to say— I’ve never been married, or— anything else, really. But... I know just from today that love is irrational. I still love Matthew for what he did for me, even though there’s evidence he might have killed someone in Galicia. Aaron... Haley was your wife, and your girlfriend before that. The mother of your child. I would never expect you to just stop loving her, and caring for her— and regretting everything that led up to your divorce, and losing Jack.”

She presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, pulling away just enough to do so. “I respect you so much for being the kind of person who could see why she might have acted the way she did, regardless of how it makes you feel about yourself. And if... if you think you _ should _ stop loving her, before being involved with me... we might be able to figure something out. But I don’t think it’s necessary, to stop loving her entirely. To always be in love with the person you loved enough to marry.” 

He doesn’t even know what he had expected her to say, but her words ache somewhere deep. Aaron pulls her closer, hiding his face against her hair, her shoulder. Makes no sound as he tries to pull back his composure, to stop— god, he’s crying— 

It takes a little while before he can scrub frustratedly at his eyes and breathe less jaggedly. He doesn’t move away. 

Emily’s heart clenches, feeling him try to stop himself— shuddering against her— she’s still and quiet, not quite sure how to soothe him, not quite able to throw her arms around him. But she stays. She thinks maybe a few tears fell onto her shoulders— it’s okay. 

“You’re okay,” her voice is quiet against his skin. “It’s okay to feel like this, for awhile.” She wonders just how long he’s struggled with this— perhaps all the time they’ve been together. 

“Thank you,” he says, quiet. “I’m sorry, this isn’t about me.” Kisses her cheek gently. “It’s still snowing. Would you— want to stay here?” 

“Things don’t have to be just about me or just about you. We’re an _ us _ . A _ we _, even.” Emily nods, even so. “I don’t have my go bag or anything, but yeah. I’d like that.”

She pulls away some, painfully stiff from her walk and from being still afterward. “I’m a bit of a mess, right now.” She attempts to finger-comb the worst of her hair, to little effect. 

Aaron takes her face in his hands, furrowing his brow. “You said you weren’t hungry, but when’s the last time you ate?” 

Emily makes a face at him, but doesn’t pull away. “Um... I probably ate something this morning? Maybe?” She can’t quite remember— she hadn’t been hungry. 

He looks aggrieved. “I’m making you something, and then we’re going to bed.” Stubbornly ignores the innuendo as if there’s any _ possible _chance she’s going to overlook it. “Please. It’s the least I can do.” 

“Can I at least shower first?” She tries a bit of puppy-dog eyes, something she hasn’t ever tried to pull on Aaron. “You can’t expect me to sleep with you when I spent hours walking today...” 

“Emily…” he says warningly, “... If you’d like to, of course.” Rises a bit, pulling her to her feet. “Don’t think I dont know _ exactly _what you’re doing, though.” Aaron narrows his eyes—the effect is about as successful as his previous attempt. “I’m the unit chief. I’m invulnerable.” 

It takes a bit to struggle out of her clothes, stiff as she feels— Emily isn’t sure what she’s going to change into, even. Once in the shower, though, she sighed, letting the water undo some of the damage to her body, the stress and the pain. Using Aaron’s soap and shampoo is novel enough— she likes the idea of smelling a bit like him. 

When she’s done, she wraps a towel around herself and peeks out— Aaron still seems to be in the kitchen— and sneaks into his room. Pokes around for a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. Dresses, and pads out to the kitchen, doing her best to get the worst of the water out of her hair. 

He hears her before he sees her, her soft footsteps in the kitchen— he’s leaning over the stove, so he hums a hello, not quite looking. When the pan’s ready to simmer, he turns around and— god. On second thought, he hadn’t _ provided _her anything to wear, so it makes sense that she’d taken some of his clothes. But still— the too-big neckline of his t-shirt, the cuffed up legs of his pants— it’s impossibly sweet and impossibly crisis-inducing. He can’t quite help it, coming over to kiss her. “Feel better?” 

A nod, pressing up into the kiss— it’s more gentle than deep, but it is nice to be warmer and softer against Aaron. Both of them are more receptive. “What’re you making? One of my recipes, or something else?” 

“Oh, nothing fancy… wish I had the time, but I’m afraid I’m lazy and I’d like to go to bed.” He kisses her forehead before he leans back to the stove. “Tomato soup sound all right?” 

“Soup is fine— I want to get into bed, too.” She takes a seat at the table, tries not to be too distracting while he finishes up and gives her a bowl— tastes it and nods. “Pretty decent for a solo effort,” Emily chuckles, gentle— smiling across at Aaron. 

It’s nearly meditative— the steps, the nearly unconscious cream-pepper-basil addition until he’s serving Emily and happy that she’s smiling. It’s not until a little later that he remembers it’s the first time he hasn’t messed it up. “Glad to hear it,” he toasts her with his spoon. “At least I can do this right.” 

Emily only manages one bowl— tiredness bordering on exhaustion has taken away her appetite for more. “You did good.” She pushes it away, finding her feet. “Let’s go to bed,” Emily chuckles again. “You’re not in your pajamas, though. Do I get to watch you change this time?” 

“Only if you ask nicely,” Aaron laughs, and makes his way into the bedroom. Some of the drawers are still open, evidence of her sorting through, and he smiles. “You seem to have already seen everything I could wear, though. No surprises.” 

“Not even anything interesting stashed anywhere, that I could profile you about.” She sits on top of the covers, yawning. “I bet it would have been funny if you folded your underwear or socks, but you don’t do that.” 

“Yes,” Aaron sighs, “please profile me in my own house.” There’s no reason to duck away, really— he faces away from her for some vague semblance of modesty, thankful he’s not stripping out of his boxers. It doesn’t take long to change, but he chuckles, feeling her eyes on him. “Having fun?” he asks, ruefully. 

Emily smiles, wide. Lets Aaron watch her eyes scan him, head to toe. God, he’s good looking. If she wasn’t so tired and so... messed up— “Yeah, I am.” Pats the place next to her with a hand, inviting him to sit up next to her. 

He crawls into bed, narrowing his eyes in mock indignation at the pleased way her eyes follow him. “_ Prentiss,” _he says, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were objectifying me.” 

She struggles to get under the covers with him, lying up against his chest, this time under his arm, settling comfortably, her own torso plastered to his. Warm. “Noticing that you look nice isn’t the same as objectifying you.” Emily’s eyes are closed. “Wanting to climb you like a tree, that would be over the line.” 

“Of course.” He traces idle little circles against her scalp, threading his fingers through her soft hair. “Good thing neither of us has ever thought about _ that.” _

Emily looks up, smiling with her eyes. It’s... nice, somehow, to know that he noticed her in that way at work. “You never let on, though. Everyone always comments on Garcia’s outfits or Reid’s hair, but I get ignored.” She sniffs, lightly. 

“Tragic,” Aaron says, leaning to kiss her. “Guess I'll just have to pay you enough attention to make up for all of them. I think you just don’t see it,” Aaron hums. “Derek walks behind you for most assignments just because he keeps seeing guys looking at you and he gets protective. It’s a habit by now.” A chuckle. “He does the same thing for Garcia. I’ve seen several people give you once-overs— never really classified the feeling it gave me until now.” 

Emily nods, sleepily. She’s pretty close to passing out, not quite able to focus on the conversation anymore. Aaron’s so warm, and this time she can press herself to his body, rather than having to try to stay away and not touch. Catches one of his hands, presses a kiss to it— relaxes against him. Slowly drifts to sleep. 

“Good night, Emily,” Aaron murmurs, settling against her. It’s so… warm, with them together— he falls asleep before he realizes. 

They don’t end up managing to have both the time _ and _inclination, for the next few weeks. Emily waffles between moving in with Aaron, and asking him to move in with her. It’d be more convenient, certainly, and they could take turns cooking, and he’s so reasonable, so used to living with someone— he’s already the perfect roommate in concept. 

Coming home together, waking up together, that would be a bonus. A very nice bonus. As is, they’re somewhere in the nebulous between stages of being friends with benefits, dating, and engaged. Somewhat intimate— but not enough to prompt panic about conception. 

That nebulousness is the context in which Foyet occurs— the initial contact, feeling him slip through their fingers, through custody— free to choose a city and wreak havoc— he’s the other shoe. All of them struggle with the powerlessness with not knowing when, if ever, they’ll be flown out to catch him again.

When they need to catch up on sleep, or they have to leave from work in different cars, keep up appearances— they go home separate. It isn’t a shock when Aaron manages to sleep through the initial call to action— possibly even the repeated calls from JJ. But not answering at all, hours later, that’s unusual. Emily finally peels off from Reid and the case long enough to go to check on him.

She doesn’t even need to use her key— it’s open, and the hole in the wall, the blood on the floor— tells an ugly story. 

Aaron wakes up dizzy, sore— the pain fading into the familiar blur of whatever’s threaded into the vein at his wrist. There’s a moment where he’s lost— and then the memory floods back so quickly he has to lean back on the hospital bed and gasp, catching his breath again. The stiffness in his hips— he closes his eyes tight. 

God. He’s scared for a reason he can’t explain— he wants Emily. He remembers too much and he’s not sure where he even _ is. _

It takes longer than she’d like to get a dispatch team over to Aaron’s apartment, leave a statement— it gives her time to call Garcia and _ locate _ him, thank God, but it’s still irritating as hell. He’s been in and out, the nurse says, he’s been stabbed multiple times, lost a lot of blood— might not remember anything at all. Emily knows, of course she knows. But she’s here, parked in the corner of the room, watching the door and watching Aaron. Vigilant. 

He can smell the antiseptic before he even opens his eyes— wants to turn to his side and curl into himself, but he can’t. His stitches are tight, delicate, and he has to stay still. Covers his face with a hand— can feel the slightly tacky line where some of the minor injuries on his face haven’t closed yet. If he keeps his eyes closed, though, he can still feel— the push, and Foyet’s grin. His eyes open slowly, squinting in the bright lights, and— Emily’s there. Something in him loosens as he sees her. 

Her voice is quiet— doesn’t want to upset him, or startle him. Hates that she has to be treating him like this. “Aaron,” God, she can’t do this, can’t be his coworker and his lover at the same time, not right now. “Everyone is on their way over. He left Morgan’s credentials with you— we need to figure out what he took, I didn’t see anything out of place at your apartment, there’s a crew going through it right now. If you can remember anything— anything that can help us, you can tell me so you don’t have to think about it again when the team gets here.” 

Cold. Efficient. Task-oriented. If she doesn’t do this she’ll try to hold his hand and kiss his hair and she can’t. 

Aaron takes a deep breath— something in the way his chest tightens tells him he’d be in agony if it wasn’t for the morphine— and bites his lip. There’s no way he can talk to her about this. Even now. He furrows his brow for a moment, in mock concentration, and shakes his head. “There’s not much. After the first hit, I think I blacked out. He wasn’t wearing anything different than what we’ve seen him before.” 

Emily looks at him for a moment, then nods. “That’s okay. We got a bit of a look at him when he dropped you off, in any case. If you’ll give your permission, I can get your personal effects and see if there’s anything missing there.” At the moment, they were hindered in the investigation by what she was entitled to officially. She wasn’t next of kin or an emergency contact. But on the other hand, that would be one more thing they’d have to explain and deal with while Aaron... recovers. “I’ll grab a nurse so you can give verbal permission— you must have gotten a few hits in, or your hands wouldn’t be in such shit shape.” A quirk of her lips. “Sorry.” 

She just _ barely _ swallows down the ‘sir’ that threatens to follow after her apology. Something about having to toe the line of working the investigation, mixed with that nervousness of the early days of being on the team— seeing Aaron out of sorts, in pain.

It only takes a few moments to get the bag of items. Aaron’s bloody clothes— his suit. He’d only gotten out of the jacket when Foyet had jumped him. Wallet. His keys and cellphone hadn’t been in his pants pocket. Emily puts the wallet into his hand, so he can look at it, just in case. 

He hates how unsteady his hands are— he knows it’s just the drugs, but there’s something deeply unsettling about the loss of the reassuring steadiness of his hands. “Nothing’s missing here, as far as I can see. Was there any of his marks around the room? He may have left something after I lost consciousness.” 

Emily shakes her head. “None of the eyes that he leaves, usually. I don’t understand his motivations right now. You were already—” She cuts herself off, remembering how many times they’ve been told a victim in the hospital is fragile and disoriented. Going over every second of what happened or every motivation Foyet might have had probably won’t help. “I can call over to Garcia and find out if they’ve found anything at your place.” 

“Please do.” There’s not much of the decisiveness he needs from himself in his voice, but he’s trying for it. Trying to find some semblance of the version of himself that’ll be of use here. “Ask her to make sure they double-check anything that might pertain to the view he has of me— anything that he’d think I held close or especially valued.” His jaw sets a little. “He’s trying to hurt me.” 

She steps out to use her phone, watching him through the glass, half turned to watch the hall, too. Wonders how long this time she’ll be watching her back. Garcia reports what’s missing— Emily isn’t sure but her heart is starting to thud around in her chest, fucking up her breathing. They’ve walked past that row of photos in the hall, back toward his bedroom, dozens and dozens of times. Places he’d been— and— 

Emily steps back into the room. “There’s a photo missing from the last frame in the hallway, closest to your bedroom door. Can you remember what it was?” That flat affect, giving away nothing, making sure she can’t bias the witness. God, she can almost remember. It’s more official and less— well, there wouldn’t be a good reason for _ her _ to know. Aaron has to be the one to say it. 

Aaron’s eyes harden slightly— something twists, sick and scared, in his stomach. “It was Haley,” he murmurs, “And Jack.” He wants to jump out of bed, scour his house himself, but the medication is blurring his mind and his limbs feel useless. 

Emily nods and steps back out, telling Garcia and making sure that there’s a SWAT team en route to Haley’s— the BAU will meet them there. Except her. She’s staying right here— they don’t need her to do anything now. 

She steps back in and sits in the chair— this time, just watching the door. There’s something stiff in her that she can’t quite reckon with, something that isn’t sure whether to try to comfort Aaron or let him cope as he needs without her standing over him. 

It doesn’t take long to get the call that Haley and Jack are both fine, and headed to the hospital to see Aaron before they have to... leave.

“Haley insisted on seeing you before she’d go with the marshals. And then they’ll be safe while we work on catching him.” 

Aaron nods a little tightly— he wishes he was less vulnerable, the last time Jack sees him for who knows how long. At least they’ll be protected, but he’s still on edge for a reason he can’t figure out. “Thank you. I’m just hoping they’ll be safe enough to slip past whatever Foyet’s planning. Hopefully he hasn’t anticipated this.” Did Foyet want to kill him? He imagines he wouldn’t be here to think that if he had, but still. 

As evenly as she’s capable of, Emily finds it in her to say, “Probably sending them away was the intended effect, if I had to guess. Maybe he doesn’t know you don’t have custody. Making sure you couldn’t see them, for as long as he was free.” More than usual, guessing the motives of their target sickens her. She can’t stop looking at Aaron, at his drawn, pained face— alternating with nausea and dizziness. 

His smile’s humorless, smiling because he can’t do anything else, not in front of her. “He’s playing with me. Seeing just how many pieces he can break me down to.” 

Glances up to her, eyes intent. “Have you told anyone about what’s going on with us? _ Anyone, _or left any indication that you’re connected to me in any way other than work? He might get information that way, or…” He doesn’t want to think too much— there’s no use wasting time with improbabilities. 

Her eyes are somewhat wide. “If he looked, he might could see you’d been dating someone. But I haven’t told anyone, otherwise. If he’d been watching you for weeks and weeks... he might have seen me be over at your place more than most. But other than that, no. And I don’t see why he’d— go after me when you’ve got a more concrete... connection with Haley and Jack. We aren’t even really official.”

It’s a little spooky, thinking like that— she hadn’t had to be vigilant in a long time. But it is easier to feel safe, as awful as it sounds, with Foyet’s attention locked on Haley and Jack and Aaron. She just isn’t that important in the scheme of things. 

Aaron nods— she’s logical, as usual. “That’s good, in this case. Even still, keep an eye on any information that’s… freer than it needs to be.” He looks at her in the brief silence, eyes saying more than a few things he suddenly feels unsafe saying now. “Thank you, Emily.” 

A nod back— not quite blank. They’re coworkers, they have to be in public, when Haley and Jack and the BAU could arrive at any moment. The visit goes smooth enough— Haley seems quietly frustrated, not quite accusing— like maybe Aaron had managed to do this just to get her back in his life, in a way that can be monitored from afar. At least that’s Emily’s impression, from twenty feet away, through glass, sipping coffee and pretending she’s deaf.

Emily volunteers to take Aaron home. They’ve had a crew clean up as best as they can, Morgan patched to hole the gun left. Counter surveillance is outside, watching for Foyet. But with the blinds drawn and Aaron in the dim of his bed, finally into real pajamas— soft, buttons in the front, loose bottoms so the stitches in his hips and stomach won’t have something pinching them.

She’s shaky, sitting next to Aaron, facing away. Unsure how much to press, how much to ask for— what to give him. The idea of being some sort of sexy Nightingale right now, when he seems so tired and lost is far and away from the reality of the situation. Besides— Aaron’s flinched, the few times she’s had to put her fingertips on him. And the flinching strains the stitches and they can’t be intimate anyway, it’s too dangerous.

Floundering— making it about her— it’s despicable. She turns to press a kiss to his non-bruised cheek. “Anything I can get you, before bed?” 

“I’m alright. Just…” he trailed off a bit, leaning into the kiss. “Stay with me? Just for a minute or two.” He doesn’t want to move— without the haze of the morphine, the painkillers he’s been prescribed don’t do much to dull the sharp throb of his stitches. But he’s struck with the need to memorize the feeling of Emily’s presence before she’s gone again. She’s taken care of him so gently, even with the restraints of work-appropriate behavior. 

“I have to sleep somewhere that isn’t here but— yes. I’ll stay until you can sleep.” Emily examines him for another minute, giving herself time to figure out how to be close to him in a meaningful way. His legs are stretched out under the covers, propped enough so that the length of them doesn’t pull his hips and torso down unduly. 

She curls up next to Aaron, pillowing her head on an arm, her arm resting on his legs. Looking up at him, holding his hand. Their eyes meet— she can feel something traveling where she’s touching him, even through the covers. It’s impossible not to scrutinize his reactions— Emily tells herself she’s just trying to decide what’s causing him pain. 

He’s struggling with touch— she brushed the inside of his knee while helping him into bed and he flinched hard enough to send a jolt of pain through his hip. There’s not much to do in the way of masking his reactions— they’re horrifically instinctual and Aaron knows it’s only a matter of time before Emily sees through the ruse of his forgetfulness. He just hopes she’ll be able to understand if he… if he can’t— 

Right now, it’s all right. He kept eye contact with her movements as she made them— nothing’s a surprise, and he knows the feeling of her body. It’s as close to comfortable as he’s been since the day. He squeezes her hand gently, meeting her eyes. 

It’s a relief, palatable— she can’t quite contain a sigh and a nervous smile. Relaxes against his legs, body sagging into the bed. They’re so far apart, so used to sleeping alone or practically on top of one another. Emily misses his warmth and being tucked under his arm already. Teasing him early in the morning until he startled awake. Foyet stole that from him— and somehow it’s almost worse than he doesn’t even know about that little byproduct. 

Aaron’s wounds get better. He’s fighting with his doctors by the end of two weeks, wanting to get back in a suit and hunting Foyet down. The stitches finally come out, and she shows up for their normal get-together, something routine as that, it’d be weirder to skip it.

But even once the bruises start to fade and the places where the stitching held his skin in place heal over into scars— he’s still pulling away from her hands. Emily can’t be... she _ can’t _ be any more gentle than she’s already trying to be. It’s like... everything, _ everywhere _ that could be touched, hurts him somehow. It’s like—

Emily pushes Aaron to the couch, careful not to topple him, get his back against the cushions before asking.

“What really happened? What did he do?” 

Aaron’s eyes widen— he responds out of instinct. “Emily, I… I told you.” 

She wants to shake him, but she can’t touch him. Can’t feel him recoil anymore, can’t stand how selfish it makes her feel that his pain is _ inconvenient _. “Please. Please, I’m hurting you— you have to tell me so I can stop—” 

Something in Aaron’s eyes hardens— it has to. He can’t lie to her, not when she’s so close… looking at him like that. He drops his head, drops his eyes. Crushes his voice into something cool and calm and even— this is a briefing. Nothing more than something that happened to somebody else. 

“He asked if… if I thought we’d been correct about his impotence. I couldn’t answer, he was… hard. He told me he knew—” God, his voice is already breaking down— “about my sexuality, that he’d wondered if my liking men was what—” He breaks off, turns to the side, eyes too-bright. Sets his jaw in silence until it passes. “What made Haley stop loving me. If she’d seen it and… hated it. Then he laughed. I was in shock by then— I couldn’t move, I could barely hear him.” Aaron can barely feel the damp down his cheeks

God, his voice is so flat, he could be reading from a case file. Emily’s eyes are wide, her own face growing stiff and still— hiding how disturbed she is, trying to be clinical. “It might help the profile to tip the team off about what you remember.” A pause, the sorrow bleeding through— her hand reaching up, slow, slow, to brush her knuckles against his cheek.

“Yes,” he says, still clinging on the the last semblances of composure. His voice breaks and he turns his face against her hand, hiding a little. “I’m sorry— I could have resisted, or fought him, or—” 

Emily shakes her head, trying not to shush him. Scoots closer, letting him lean into the crook of her neck and shoulder, his torso held apart from her own. His face buried against her skin— she can feel the salt of his tears and his shuddering breaths. “He’d already stabbed you until you could barely speak— it isn’t your fault, he made fighting back impossible— you don’t have to—” 

Her voice stutters. “You didn’t fail in any way. Not yourself, not me, not our team. He hurt you and tortured you. I’m so— I’m so glad you’re alive, and—” Emily risks kissing the top of his hair. “That you’re here to be with me. However you can. Tell me whenever something hurts you— even if it’s only painful because it makes you remember— and we’ll figure it out.” 

Aaron cries quietly, because he can’t do anything else— can barely speak to her. He’d cling to her if it didn’t hurt him like it does… he aches for her. “Emily,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, Emily… thank you—” He only tightens a little at her kiss, and then leans into it, a little desperate. Something, at least, he’s still whole enough to take. 

She doesn’t tell him not to say sorry to her, to not thank her like that— maybe he needs to say that— to someone. Emily just holds the nape of his hair, plays with it gently, and itches— wishing she could do more, make him feel safe again, safe with her.

A part of her wants to start figuring out where is okay to touch— but that sort of exploration... it could be overwhelming. The last thing Emily wants is Aaron suffering through dozens of touches. They’ll figure it out, a little at a time.

It’s a little while before she can touch anywhere but his face— the only place Foyet hadn’t made contact with. Slowly, they hold hands, keeping her in clear sight— he stands with his back facing walls more than ever now. Even his subconscious flees from the possibility of being surprised from behind. But he can’t treat his public image as gingerly and gently as he does his relationship with Emily. They need him as a leader, so that’s the bar he’ll rise to. 

He comes back onto the team, the stoic personality set in place. It’s easier at work— no one touches him, except occasionally Dave. He lets JJ make the introductions, and takes crazy risks that has everyone worried. Emily isn’t sure what to do, or what could be done.

The visits are regular— under the guise of ‘checking’ on Aaron. No more dates, they can’t risk Foyet suspecting and switching his attentions to her. Once or twice a week, and Emily usually doesn’t even stay over. It’s selfish, to feel lonely. But she does. Holding hands is okay, and playing with his hair is okay— and sometimes kissing is okay, but only if they’re standing or sitting. 

The Foyet case feels stalled. It’s a little frustrating, making so little progress, waiting for Foyet to make a move. Aaron hates how he knows it’ll only be a matter of time until a body shows up, or something as drastic. Foyet’s not one for subtlety. He keeps regular contact with Emily even though it’s hard. Looks at her when they talk, forces himself to look somewhere else than directly at her hands when she touches him. It hurts, but Aaron hopes it’s a hurt that means he’s nearing normalcy again. How can he miss her touch and recoil from it within the same moment? 

They're near each other on the couch— she's taken to sitting at his feet rather than be torn between against his side or on his lap. Leaning against Aaron's legs doesn't seem to make him flinch as much. And neither of them have to control their faces, like this.

It's quiet enough. Emily looks up at Aaron, lips pursed. “Do you think _ you _ touching _ me _ would be okay?” She tries to be frank as ever, not shy away from things that concern them. “However you like, I just... miss you.” 

Aaron thinks for a moment, imagines— it doesn’t hurt as much. He nods quietly. “If we took it slow— I miss you too. God, so much.” He reaches out to run a hand through her hair, closing his eyes to feel the soft of it against his fingers. 

A few more weeks pass before Foyet makes indirect contact with Aaron, renewing his desire to find him— a false lead to an empty apartment leading to a grab for control of Haley and Jack— Emily gets separated from Aaron as he makes a dash for his old house, following where Foyet had all but said he was sending them. 

She’d been ordered to stand down— they didn’t have any real evidence, and not being around whatever went down at Aaron’s place would probably be better for the team. Emily goes back to her place, exhausted— anything with Foyet and Haley is exhausting. No one has heard anything, so there was only a little surprise when Aaron called from her landline, asking to be buzzed in to her apartment. Emily opens the door and all she feels is pain. 

It’s possible that she passes out, but when she can, she opens her eyes and takes stock of what’s happened. On the floor. Head ringing, vision a bit dizzy but getting clearer. Breathing hurts. Only when she tries to roll to her feet does Emily realize she’s been injured. No blood, but her shoulder doesn’t look right.

Foyet’s standing over her— the only option is to go blank, to let him scare her. He doesn’t want to kill her right away, he wants to hurt her, and hurt Aaron in the process. Haley’s safe and confused at her old house— no one knows she’s in danger. 

He has a gun, and his mouth is moving. Emily lies still and volleys back denials at him while he goes on about her and Aaron’s relationship, allusions to an affair with a married man, even their current difficulties with touch— when she gets sharp with Foyet, he kicks her ribs. Just once. Enough for her to be reminded that she’s flat on her back, winded, and somewhat incapacitated. Even if she could get up on her own, fighting Foyet would be stupid. 

Seeing her resolve to wait it out, Foyet starts talking again, about her secret fears, the ones only Aaron and Dave could guess at, and possibly not even then. 

Emily’s trying to be strong but she can’t deny the revulsion at what Foyet’s insinuating. She can’t hold onto her composure, her gaze is sliding away, trying to divorce herself from what could happen. And under that, the fear that afterwards he would have no reason not to kill her— stab her or shoot her. Leave her for the team to find. 

Even with her eyes averted and mouth tight from teeth sunk into her lips, Emily can’t help but notice that she’s starting to tear up— terrified that this is what will prompt him to take things further, to stop drawing it out. He’s squatting next to her, she can hear the smugness in his tone, the feel of his wandering hands, grazing her dislocated shoulder, tugging her shirt askew.

Haley’s safe. It’s been too long to think that she or Jack were Foyet’s next targets— Aaron wracks his brain, wondering who he’d be openly close enough with that Foyet would have his eye on them. At first, he doesn’t worry about Emily. They’ve been careful, keeping themselves out of the public eye. Enough so that no bystander could possibly think— but Foyet’s no bystander. 

Aaron realizes with a sudden chill that Foyet was in his _ apartment. _Emily’s been coming over enough that there could very well be some trace of her, something she left, something to clue Foyet off— he’s already in his car, driving back to Quantico, but he feels the urge to turn around and check on her. 

His phone rings. 

“Hotch,” Garcia says confusedly. “We’ve had another voicemail from Foyet. We… have Haley and Jack, they’re safe, so…” 

“So what,” Aaron says hollowly. “What is it, Garcia?” 

“Why,” she muses, “would he be warning you about your lover?” 

Aaron’s blood goes cold. He only registers a moment later that he’s turned around, that he’s speeding towards Emily’s place with only memory and instinct to help him along— he says something inane to Garcia. “He— he’s seen me with Emily and he assumes that she’s who I’m with now— she could be in danger—” 

Garcia gasps a little through the phone and tells him they’ll send someone over, but it’ll be too late by the time they get there. He pulls up to her apartment building— no gun, but there isn’t time. There’s barely any cars outside— most people are at work, or out. He finds himself at her door without knowing how he got there, god— he’s terrified. Of whatever he’ll find behind her door. 

The door wasn't locked, there wasn’t any need, she couldn’t even stand to get through the door let alone turn the knob— Aaron bursts through. A quick inhale is all Emily gives herself time for, using that distraction to force herself to roll away, unable to hold in the resulting pained sounds as she does so.

She gets her back to the wall, uses it to stand and brace her shoulder. Hands shake while she struggles to get into position to try to pop it back in, right now she’s just a liability. Aaron and Foyet are fighting, and she needs to be able to help, or at least not become a hostage, again.

The gun that had been held on her isn’t in sight— another few breaths, fighting dizziness, trying not to think about what could have happened. Fixes her shoulder with a low hiss. God, it hurts, she’s afraid she’s going to pass out but it isn’t safe, not while Foyet’s still here. 

It’s a credit to Emily that she rolls out of the way— Aaron barely has time to register the pale flash of her skin and the hot, nearly painful burn of the sick rage that it induces before he’s on Foyet. Forgets half the things he’s been taught in training, can’t scratch out of his head the look on Foyet’s face as he looked down at Emily. The satisfaction, the entitled, filthy imagining— he’s sick with it. They’re both bloody within minutes and Foyet refuses to go down. Aaron’s not thinking about incapacitation. All he can think about is that he can’t let Foyet escape, that nobody, _ nobody _ can touch Emily like that, the horrifying pictures of what he might have _ done— _

Foyet’s not taking prisoners, either. The way he’s swinging— without a care for his own injuries, just trying to inflict as much harm as possible. Aaron has the burst of adrenaline on his side, though, and he doesn’t bother to stop the fury from clouding his mind, his eyes. Not until Foyet’s blows slow and Aaron stops being able to tell if the blood on his hands is his own or not. He doesn’t care. 

Foyet’s stopped, and there’s only one reason why. Emily lets herself slide down the wall, catching herself before she tilts forward onto her hands. “Aaron— Aaron, stop. Please stop.” Her voice is weird, too loud in the quiet of her apartment. Distantly, she thinks she might hear sirens. 

He’s trembling, can only now start to feel the tears streaming down his face— there’s blood in his hair. At some point, Foyet had caught him with a knife— he’d kicked it away before it had done any real damage, but there’s a shallow cut across his ribs that’s seeping blood into his shirt. His sleeves are wrecked. 

Foyet… doesn’t have a pulse. Aaron feels sick, numb. He’s shaking harder now, on his knees by Foyet’s body, can’t swallow the taste of blood out of his mouth. God. _ God. _His mind is as blank as Foyet’s eyes, but for— 

He turns his head to Emily. She’s safe now. 

Emily’s somewhat blank, too, the adrenaline she’d been riding on ebbing out, the acute pain overwhelming her. One hand pulls her clothes as into place as she can manage.

Her eyes meet Aaron’s, wondering if she looks as tired as he does. People start streaming into her apartment, and it’s almost a relief to be carried away in a gurney, not having to explain just as to why her superior and boyfriend just beat a serial killer to death in her apartment.

She wakes, past sunset, in the hospital. Looks across the room and finds Aaron— he looks like he’s got butterfly stitches, his hands wrapped up. “You look like death warmed over.” ’

Aaron laughs, if a little hollow. “Hairline fractures in most of my knuckles. The nurse said I was efficient.” It’s so good to hear her voice again, safe— he’s suddenly fiercely protective of her, and he can’t tell if it’s the situation or the trauma. They’ll be working through the things this did to them for a while. It’s so grim, laughing about something like that. But it’s all he can do. He can’t cry yet. 

Emily suddenly isn’t sure why she’s here— dislocating a shoulder is painful, and needs to be checked out to make sure she put it back right, but what else...

“How do I look? About the same?” It’s a gentle probe, but there’s almost a bitterness to it. The killer Foyet had gotten in contact with to taunt them, to distract them— he’d commented on her looks. Right now the idea of her own body, bare— it’s terrifying. The hospital gown doesn’t feel like enough. 

“A little tired, but we all are.” Aaron smiles a bit. “Pretty as ever. How’s your shoulder?” 

A wince when she rolls it, slowly. Settling back against the pillows. “About the same.” Her eyes go wide, remembering suddenly. “Haley and Jack?” 

“They’re all right. Garcia called afterwards. There’s not much chance of them being in danger now, so they’re moving back home within a few days.” He’s quiet for a moment. “They know that the problem’s been taken care of. That’s all.” 

“Good, that’s probably for the best.” It’s a bland sort of statement, but trashing Haley for not wanting to know the details isn’t the best thing she could be doing right now. Emily frowns, thinking that now it’s back to the status quo. Except explaining _ this _ away won’t be easy, may even be impossible. Foyet doesn’t make mistakes like this. 

“What does the team know, so far?” Her gaze has dropped. 

“They know the general scene, as well as what his intentions likely were. Cause of death was a blow to the temple. Enough of the blood was my own to have the possibility that it was an accident come back high. You were Foyet’s last grab at what was important to me, so it makes sense he’d have given it his all.” He smiles again slightly. “All in all, I think it’s not too incriminating. However, in the voicemail he left he called you my lover.” 

That’s among the more concerning aspects. Foyet teases, but not usually like that. All lies have a grain of truth, after all. 

Emily winces at some of his phrasing. “I suppose that’s more or less accurate. Which... as my superior...” 

Aaron sighs worriedly, pushes back his hair with a wrist. “I know.” He furrows his brow. “The team trusts me. But they’ll wonder.” 

“At least it’s only an issue on a professional level.” Emily’s more or less sure of that. “I don’t want to have to leave the team but they need you as chief. I don’t know.” She can’t decide anything while she’s still in the hospital, drugged up on pain medication.

It takes a few weeks to get things sorted out and find a new place for the both of them— and Aaron has to answer to Strauss for his behavior. His decision to kill Foyet. Emily thinks he might have talked over the decision as to whether to stay on as the unit chief or at the BAU with Dave, but that’s just a guess.

As it turns out, Emily hasn’t got much of an attachment to her stuff, and Aaron didn’t get to take most of his on his previous move, so they end up having to buy a lot of new stuff. She laughs and shrugs and takes the opportunity to let them get comfortable again.

Emily isn’t sure why she’s had fewer lasting effects from what Foyet tried to do to her— maybe because on the whole it’s easier for _ her _ to feel she isn’t personally responsible for Foyet’s behavior. The physical damage that he’d done to her wasn’t on the same level as what he did to Aaron, not even close. She wonders sometimes, why he’d been so restrained, so careful— but she tries not to think about it so much.

To get around the personnel files, Emily opens a mailbox in her own name and has Aaron sub-let to her, so there’s no record of her living at the same address as him. They could potentially get in a lot of trouble for this— not for dating but for hiding it— but for now, it’s nice to have some privacy.

The first few nights are quiet— she struggles, if one could call it that, the most at night, waking from sleep and not sure whether the man lying next to her is Aaron or someone else, someone she can’t trust. Emily wonders if the nightmares hurt him the way his flinching hurt her.

It’s on one such occasion, sometime before dawn, suddenly awake and lying quiet and still, listening to his breathing, she knows that the person behind her is almost certainly Aaron but she’s afraid to look. 

Neither of them sleep very well in the days following. Since he started the job, Aaron hasn’t been able to sleep very soundly, but now it’s even lighter, startling awake at the slightest sound. He can feel the tension from Emily, the sudden jolt of fear when she wakes up, and the dissipation, far too slow, as she realizes where she is. He doesn’t touch her, not when she’s like that, but he talks quietly to her, enough to reassure her that he’s _ him. _Several nights they lie awake into the early morning, clinging to each other and pretending they’re doing anything but. 

He keeps waking up afraid— angry at his own fear, at his inability to push it aside to help Emily— tears come far easier than they used to. He hates it, losing the invulnerability he’d built up so carefully in his line of work. 

She wakes up again a week later, dead still and barely breathing enough to lift her shoulders— Aaron stays as still as she does. It’s a few hours after midnight, still dark in the room. 

“Emily,” he says quietly, keeping away from a whisper so she can easily identify his voice. “It’s me— I’m here.” 

Some of the tension bleeds out of her shoulders and back and hands— not all of it, not these days, but some. She turns over to face Aaron, moving closer until her palms find his chest, tucking her face there. “It’s like every time I close my eyes, I think when I come to he’ll— he’ll be there, that even if I went to sleep safe, when I wake up I’m not anymore.” There’s a vulnerable quality to her voice, lost. Emily isn’t used to feeling like— like she needs a protector. 

Aaron cups her head in his hands, kisses her hair— he can’t pretend he’s not scared, himself. “I know. Like he meant for you to feel safe, just long enough to make you believe it before he comes back.” His hands tighten a bit, protective. “But that’s not the case. You’re safe, sweetheart.” It’s strange, saying something like that with the knowledge behind the words that she’s safe because he _ killed _someone for her. But he’d do it again. Without a second thought. 

It’s nice to be able to be closer to him again, less worried her touch will hurt. When Aaron’s comforting her— nothing seems off limits to them. Emily relaxes, incrementally, letting him hold her close in his arms. “You’re safe, too.” Leans up to his neck, the edge of his jaw, smiling in the dark at the stubble. “Somehow I imagined living with you, waking up in the middle of the night would be more fun.” 

“You mean this isn’t fun?” he chuckles dryly, tilting his head to lean against her. She has a point, though— in the few brief moments he’d let himself imagine living with her, waking up together with joint nightmares didn’t play a very significant part. But they can’t change that, now. He’s glad, at least, that they can work through this together. 

“Don’t worry,” he hums. “Once we’re both feeling better, I’ll be sure to entertain you as best I can.” 

She laughs, quiet, gently pushing Aaron’s chest. “Oh, what kind of entertainment did you have in mind? Midnight recitations of sonnets?” A finger teases the neck of his shirt— hearing him react is more fun when that’s about all the reaction she can actually discern. 

“Oh, of course.” She can’t see his smile, but he’s smiling nonetheless— it sounds in his voice. “I can’t imagine why you’d be anticipating anything else. You already know my taste in poetry is insufferable.” He can’t see _ quite _well enough to kiss her, so when he leans slightly down it’s just a brush of their cheeks, somehow more intimate. “I’ll read you Rossetti. Or Byron.” 

Emily catches his jaw with her hand, nuzzles against him, pressing a kiss from jaw to cheek. Shifts up to make it easier to kiss Aaron, soft and light. That warmth she loves is easing something every moment they can be be like this. “To read you’d have to put the light on,” she reasons. 

The quiet in the room is comfortable, safe enough to close his eyes as she kisses his forehead. Safe. A feeling that he associates with her presence, now. 

Emily lets him duck away, now, stroking his jaw and cheek. It’s just after dawn, and she wonders if they might sleep awhile longer. They’re silent, listening to each other breathe in the stillness. Her own eyes close with drowsiness, shifting somewhat under Aaron until he’s held to her chest more comfortably, slowly drifting off. 

They rest in the safety of their bed, in the obscurity of their own place— she wakes again in the much brighter room and struggles to slip away from him, heavy with sleep, to go wash up. 

Aaron wakes up to the faint sounds of Emily puttering around the bathroom— he runs a hand through his messy hair and smiles. “Morning,” he calls. “You seem… motivated.” 

She sits back on the bed in a few moments rather than answering from the other room, smiling, leaning across to kiss his cheek. “You’d be motivated too if you woke up next to some hot guy.” 

“Would I now,” he teases. “Is that all I am to you? Some hot guy? I mean, I’m flattered—” His eyes twinkle as she kisses him, leaning shamelessly into it. 

“You would if you wanted to kiss him the morning after.” Emily laughs, pulling away, half standing again. 

Aaron sighs ruefully, taking her hand as he sits up a bit. Shakes his head. “God, I love you.” 

She pulls him up to standing, stepping close to lean against him— still teasingly ducking any kisses. It’s so nice to tease, to not feel lonely or guarded in the mornings. “Love you, too. Now— are you brushing your teeth, making me breakfast, or both?” 

“Both,” he says, raising his eyebrows in mock indignance. “If only for _ slightly _selfish reasons.” 

“Okay then... it’s not nice to keep a girl waiting.” Emily moves to push Aaron forward, gentle hands on his back, snaking around to keep her fingers in sight. “Teeth first. Anything I can get started in the kitchen? Coffee?” 

Aaron chuckles. “Coffee, if you’re that impatient. I won’t keep you long.” He heads obediently to the bathroom, yawning a little. 

It takes a bit longer than normal— they’re mostly unpacked, but remembering where they had decided to _ put _everything was another story. Emily finds the coffee maker and steps half into the pantry to look for the coffee itself, humming something under her breath. 

Eventually Aaron finishes up and comes to join her, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck as he passes her on his way to start breakfast. It’s good, just brushing against her as they move around each other in the kitchen. A reminder of her presence, and that she doesn’t have to leave, now. 

Emily retrieves the coffee and sets up the maker, leaning on the counter to watch Aaron grab various items and ingredients. She’s almost... curious what he’s planning. They hadn’t really covered most breakfast items during her cooking lessons. But it is kind of nice just to... check him out, dressed in his soft pajamas. God. He’s so pretty.

“So, what’s on the menu?” 

Aaron wrinkles his nose. “Well. I’m trying not to burn the house down, so I’ll stick to bacon and eggs for now.” A rueful grin. “You know, like a coward.” 

She chuckles leaning to kiss him, this time on the mouth, quick. “I could try teaching you how to make omelets? Unless that’s what you were going to do.” 

“Please.” He laughs. “I need all the help I can get.” 

It’s impossible not to tease— the lesson consists mostly of half-assed critiquing of Aaron’s “form”, with various manipulations of his arm and hand, first showing him how to dice and whisk and flip. Comfortable and safe, no artifice... they can both have honest reactions. And playing around makes certain things easier. If either of them freeze up a little with a knife in their hand— the other is there to notice and take control. And they can’t _ not _ notice. It’s... wonderful.

Emily claps a few times as Aaron plates the omelets, pouring coffee and remembering to pour in an unhealthy amount of milk into his, sitting at the table. “No burns, no tears— a perfect breakfast.” 

Aaron laughs as they sit down. “I have a good teacher.” He tips his mug slightly to her, a salute. 

The next few weeks pass slowly— he makes up his mind one night, late or… early, technically. Edging into morning. Emily sleeps tucked close under his arm, a hand curled over his chest. It’s been too long to be unsure— he feels safe with her like he’s never felt with anyone. Every time they’re together, making coffee in the early morning, or in bed, or just wrapped up in each other on an afternoon off, lazy and slow— he wants her. Even when she’s with him, he wants her so much, wants more than this. Wants this, but forever. 

It’s less of a terrifying decision when he makes it— more like a natural progression. He doesn’t want to ask her to marry him in some impressive public show. It wouldn’t be them, it wouldn’t suit the tender way they love each other. He wants to let her feel safe to make whatever decision she needs to make, to feel beloved and accepted whatever she’ll say. Something quiet, gentle. Like they’ve learned to be with each other. 

Weeks pass in relative quiet— settling back into work, without having to worry about the rising tension from the threat of Foyet, and managing a few incidents where one of their coworkers seem a bit too invested in teasing one of them. All handled easily enough, and Emily is thankful enough for that. She never stops feeling incredibly lucky to be with Aaron, to be able to be part of his life in a way that she hadn’t ever really considered possible. In the back of her mind she’d always just thought he’d never move on from Haley. It’s a common enough narrative, even with the clean break that his former wife had clearly tried to go with. 

Sometimes Emily feels so very angry with Haley— not for divorcing him, not for being upset at him for wanting to stay with the unit— but for taking Jack, too. And it just seems unfair. To all of them. To Jack and Aaron and even Haley and her and...

God. She tries not to think too much about hypotheticals. But the idea of having a child with Aaron is more than a little appealing. Both of them are too traditional to even consider the idea without being official and open about everything with team, and right now Emily isn’t sure they’re both ready. But she wants to be. 

He realizes it looking at the calendar one evening— only a week until their first year anniversary. It’s been such a short time, relatively speaking, but it’s been such a full year. Aaron’s happy— really truly happy. It feels right to do it then. 

Looking over the things she’s taught him, he takes his time planning things out. Worries too much about a meal before he remembers her stories— looks through cookbooks at the library until he finds recipes he remembers her talking about. Buys the best ingredients he can and waits. 

On the day of their anniversary, Aaron wakes up slowly, Emily slower. He kisses her awake—her sleepy smile is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She holds his hand until they drive up to work. 

Honestly, it doesn’t quite register that it’s _ that _ day until after they’re already in the office, far too late to ask if he has plans after work, if she needs to beg off early to get ready— Emily assumes Aaron would have told if there was anything they needed to be doing. Unfortunately, JJ and Garcia managed to get to her run off early in the afternoon together. Some sort of girls thing, she doesn’t know. Telling them she’s pretty sure she needs to be home for a special occasion does the opposite of the intended effect, instead dragged off for lingerie and God knows what else. It’s a relief to head home after all of that. 

The ring gives him a little flutter in his chest every time he looks at it. Silver, intricate with tiny dark roses— it suits the way he sees her somehow. Dark and bright at once, lovely and elegant in a way that exists outside of a way he’s seen in any other woman. He sits in the quiet kitchen after the food is ready and set out, cradling the tiny box. Feeling more than a few things he doesn’t know how to describe. 

Eventually he realizes she’ll be coming home soon. He cleans up, washing the flour out of his hair and taking a little extra care to look nice just to ease out the nervousness. Somehow it’s tenser when Emily _ isn’t _here, when he can imagine all the ways he’ll mess this up. Her presence always calms him in a way nothing else can. 

She arrives back at their place, seeing the food set out and everything staged— smiles and worries at the same time, that he’d waited without her being able to say when she’d be home. Emily thinks she can hear Aaron in the bedroom, pokes her head in. “Hey! Sorry I’m so late... is it okay if I get a quick shower? My work clothes seem wrong for all this.” 

He was right about the effect she has on the atmosphere— his shoulders lose their tension as she comes into the bedroom. “Welcome back,” he chuckles, kissing her cheek. “Go ahead— you seem to have had so much fun out there without me.” His smile’s teasing— he knows all too well just how much of a feedback loop a girl’s night can entail. Derek’s told him more than once about the times Penelope has dragged him into a girl’s night already in full swing. God rest his soul. 

“You could have fun with me,” Emily invites, stripping out of her work clothes on the way to the bathroom. It isn’t totally teasing— he really could join her in the shower, but somehow he seems dressed and ready, more ready than her anyway. She hurries through her routine of sluicing off and then drying her hair, just a touch of makeup.

She has to breeze past Aaron for a moment, running back to the car to rescue the flowers she had gotten. “Happy anniversary.” It’s almost shy, shucking off her shoes at the front door like she hadn’t already entered the place once tonight. 

Aaron’s a little surprised, eyes widening in spite of himself. It’s… such an unabashedly _ sweet _thing to do that he finds himself blushing a bit, reaching forward to touch the soft edge of one of the flowers. Delicate, pink and white with tiny buds— god, he can’t remember— no, no one’s ever— 

She’s still holding them slightly out, and he takes them, smiling half bewilderedly. He’d never said anything about liking flowers, and yet. “Emily… thank you.” 

A quick nod, stepping forward to kiss Aaron, his flushed cheeks, one hand braced on his chest. “You cooked without supervision,” she chuckles, mussing his hair. “Living dangerously.” 

“I tried my best,” he says reproachfully. “I even tasted some before you came, so I know they won’t poison you.” He can’t keep up the wounded expression for long though, ducking his head and grinning as she ruffles his hair. “Hey, I _ tried _to look nice.” 

She takes his hand, the one not holding the flowers, pulls him toward the kitchen, toward the food. “You already look good. Better now.” Moves to sit, letting Aaron find a jar or something to put the flowers in. “I’m starving, I can’t wait to try what you’ve made.” 

“A compliment on my looks _ and _flowers?” Aaron laughs from the sink. “It must be our anniversary or something.” He sets the flowers in the window, dim sunlight filtering through their petals, and gives them one last admiring look before joining her at the table. “I’m glad you trust me with your taste in Lebanese food, though. Hopefully I won’t let you down.” 

She makes a show of taking a few tentative bites, like she’s some sort of expert, the kind that can write pages of reviews before chuckling and breaking character. It’s pretty good, especially for Aaron’s first try. And it’s nice to be able to tease him like this, too, with dipping sauces and fillings to lick off of her lips and fingers. “You’ve never, ever let me down, Aaron.” God. She loves him so much. 

“That’s good to hear,” he smiles, eyes following the teasing little dart of her tongue. “Also, I _ see _you, you know.” 

The box is a familiar weight by now in his jacket pocket. He doesn’t know how to bring it up— god. She means so much to him. 

“Is that a complaint?” Her eyebrows raise, but she’s smiling, standing to pushing Aaron’s chair back a bit from the table, to sit across his legs.

Nonchalantly, Emily leans forward to take another bite, this time so close to him, one hand thrown around his shoulders for balance. 

“I just said I could see you,” Aaron hums, meeting her eyes. “Have I ever _ not _enjoyed seeing you?” 

“Now you can see me better.” She goes to lean in to kiss him and shifts on his lap, bumping something. Her eyebrows go sky high again, this time with a smirk. “You seem like you’re enjoying yourself.” 

There’s… not really a question as to what she’d felt— Aaron’s suddenly overwhelmed with all the things he wanted to tell her, wanted to say— everything at once and nothing in his voice. His face heats a bit, and he just… looks at her. A little lost, more than anything. 

He freezes, almost, not quite expressionless. Emily looks down at him, surprised more than anything with his sudden tension— carefully reaching for the thing she bumped into, inside his jacket pocket. It’s a box, a small box. She’s starting to flush, too, passing it into one of Aaron’s limp hands without opening it— wanting him to show it to her, like he had wanted to. Leaning closer to brush a kiss to his lips and then settling. Waiting. 

Aaron blinks hard, eyes shining— chuckles a little, more helplessly than not. “That’s… merciful, I guess. There’s so much I wanted to say to you, but… guess the nervousness comes back, outside the office.” He takes her hand, tender but firm, almost steadying himself. Drawing courage from the reassuring warmth of her hand in his. “Emily, I love you like I’ve never loved anyone in the world. I want what we have for the rest of my life.” His smile is gentle— she’s so close. “Will you marry me?” 

Something in her wants to shake her head, at his nervousness, at his almost apologetic tone starting out. But her smile is kind, and Emily knows her grip on Aaron’s hand is tight. Kisses him, chaste and tender. Practice, she almost laughs— God.

“Yes,” she’s too loud and she was quiet too long but she smiles broadly, sliding just a tiny bit closer up his lap. “I love you.” It’s so simple, trying to elaborate feels useless. She loves him, and trusts him, more than anyone she’s known. 

He tears up and she chuckles— and they’re kissing again, careful and gentle as if they’ve never touched each other before. Saying things they’ll put into words later, because they have the time now. When they break away her eyes are bright, and he can imagine the way _ he _looks. In love, and a damn mess. 

There’s an impulse to tell him not to cry, that she’s so happy she could burst— but Aaron’s so tender and gentle, vulnerable with her. It’d be unbearably cruel, so Emily just kisses him, wet eyelashes and cheeks. “You should put the ring on for me, right? Or is that later?” Leans to rest her forehead against his. 

“I need to get back at least _ some _semblance of tradition,” Aaron grumbles good-naturedly. “You ruined my kneeling down with all of you up here on my lap.” He grins, bright. “Again, not that I’m complaining.” It’s nearly exciting now, opening the tiny box, pulling the ring from the dark velvet so she can see. 

“Oh,” it’s a pleased little noise, surprised and happy. “Aaron, it’s so pretty...” Emily extends her left hand, laughing some. “It’s too pretty for my gun-callused hands.” 

He furrows his brow solemnly up at her once the ring is on, kissing her knuckles gently. “You’ve got it backwards, I’m pretty sure.” 

“The ring doesn’t have calluses,” she teases, smiling bright at that kiss of her hand. “Do you we want to talk about wedding predilections, or leave that for another time?” 

“I mean,” he grins, matching her own smile, “unless there’s anything else you’d rather be doing.” 

Emily sighs, shaking her head half heartedly. “We should save some of that for the honeymoon.” But she’s a bit more serious, looking down at Aaron. “What are we going to do about the team?” 

“That… that’s going to be a little tricky, yeah.” Aaron chuckles ruefully. “Technically, I’ve been in my position for long enough that I’d be able to retire— or something that wouldn’t require we work in the same department, at least.” 

“If you retired... you could— I mean, if we end up having—” Emily stops for a moment. “You could stay at home. With a child we could have.” She doesn’t want to push or act like... he would have to, or want to. Or even really consider how soon after they get married they would like to do that. Thinking seriously about her future hasn’t been her strongest suit, even now. 

He blinks a bit, eyes wide— god, he’d thought for days about how to bring something like that up to her… just to have her say it. Just like that. God. He can almost feel himself blushing. 

“You’d—” he says slowly, carefully. “You’d want something like that?” Maybe the earnestness is kept out of his voice as thoroughly as he’d like it to be. Probably not. 

She’s quiet, thinking about what he’s asking. “I think... you would have liked being a father... in the sense of being present in your child’s life. And you have more experience with being a parent, regardless.” Emily shrugs, hiding something like nervousness, like she’s confessing to a flaw. “I’m not sure I know how I’d feel, being a parent. I know that right now I’m not ready to stay home with a baby. But if you’re asking how _ I’d _ feel about _ you _ raising our child... of course I’d want that. For me and for you.” 

Aaron nods quietly, leaning against her shoulder. “That… means a lot to me. I’m not asking you to be ready for something like that within any short amount of time—” He tilts his head up, kisses her cheek. “Honestly, getting married _ and _having a child within even the same year would be a bit overwhelming.” 

She leans down to press a kiss to Aaron’s hair. “It sounds so naive but... I just want us to be happy as a family. A two person or three person family.” Emily wrinkles her nose. “I’m definitely not ready to be pregnant, not when we aren’t positive we won’t have to leave the unit or take a transfer or something when we announce—” she twiddles her hand, “— this.” 

“I guess getting married _ would _be fraternization. Technically.” He sighs. “What would this even look?” 

“Like I _ really _ wanted a promotion?” Emily can’t help but laugh. “Our poor reputations...” 

**Author's Note:**

> Adapted from a roleplay log co-written with my partner. The original was twice as long and written last year.


End file.
